


Skylight

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Homophobic Language, M/M, Substance Abuse, alludes to rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 76,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been seven years since Ian left the South Side. He'd hoped that joining the army would make things better, that living out his dream would make him forget about the angry, closeted boy he'd left behind. Except, it didn't. And ever since then, Ian's been wondering, living it up with people he doesn't know, and who don't give a shit about him. </p><p>The whole marriage thing hadn't worked out for Mickey. Surprise, surprise. It wasn't just the whole thing of having to sleep next to a hooker he barely knew every night; it was missing the boy who'd walked away from him. He'd turned to booze in the hopes that it'd make things better. And for a while it did. He noticed that he was going to sleep alone, and waking up the same way. No crying from his kid. No one screaming obscenities at him in Russian. It was only when Mickey realised that he hadn't seen in his sister in months that it dawned on him that he needed to get his shit straight.</p><p>And, for the most part, he has. He's going to AA, and things are getting better. He's got a real job, and doesn't get chased by the cops anymore.</p><p>Everything's... well, not great, but okay. Until Ian comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Angel from My Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, writing a summary is frickin' hard. I don't know how people do it.  
> Secondly, I got the title of this fic from a song by Biffy Clyro by the same name. It wasn't the whole song, just the one line that got me thinking about doing this. It's "We're users, but at least we use each other friend'.  
> Also, I have no experience with substance abuse or know anyone who has struggled with it. I did some research, but if I made a mistake with any of my depictions, I apologise in advance.  
> And, as always, I would love to hear what you think of this, my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic.

Mickey Milkovich could feel the stares from about a dozen people boring into him. He was standing at the podium, facing his fellow addicts, in the basement of the church. The place was filled with the regulars, and one shadowy figure lurking in the back. Mickey didn’t pay too much attention to whoever it was. There were usually folks who hung back at these meetings, and tonight was no exception.

What was weird was the fact that Mickey was preparing to share. He normally parked his ass towards the back of the room, and listened. But tonight, while he’d been having his last cigarette before heading down into the dank basement, his sponsor had ambushed him. Lewis had insisted that it was time for Mickey to share.

That was a big part of why he was here, Lewis had said. Otherwise, what was the point?

Mickey took a deep, steadying breath. Sharing his feelings had never been his forte; most of the people in his life hadn’t bailed just because they thought he was an asshole, but because he wouldn’t talk about _why_ he was an asshole. The only consolation he felt at having to stand here was that at least he wasn’t the only schmuck who hated his life so much he had to drown shit out with booze and chemicals.

“Uh, hi. I’m Mickey, and I’m... an alcoholic.” He finally forced the words out.

The crowd murmured back the required “Hi, Mickey”, and for a few heartbeats, he didn’t know if he’d be able to get through this.

Standing there in silence, Mickey caught his sponsor’s eye. Lewis gave an encouraging nod.

“I-I’ve been sober now, for just over ten months. I got a steady job. Working construction, so the pay is shitty, but it’s better than what I was gettin’ when I spent most of my days drunk off my ass.” Mickey paused here, hoping he could just leave it at that. The look on Lewis’s face said no dice.

Another deep breath that did nothing to settle the unease crawling through him. Fuck, he hated doin’ shit like this.

“My, uh, my sister is, huh... she’s finally talkin’ to me again. It was actually kinda thanks to her that I decided to... sort my shit out. One day, I was... totally trashed, and for some fuckin’ reason, I looked to see what the date was. It-it was her birthday. Tried to call her, and... I got that stupid goddamn voice tellin’ me the number had been disconnected. I didn’t even know she’d changed her number.”

Mickey swallowed hard. He remembered the feeling that had crashed into him as he’d realised that he hadn’t seen or heard from his sister in months, and it made him shift uncomfortably.

“She’s still pissed as hell, but she’s happy that I’m comin’ here. Told me that if I can show her a one-year chip, she’ll talk to my ex about lettin’ me see my kid. Which is, uh, good. Except, maybe not for the kid. Don’t think he ever liked me all that much.” Mickey said the last with a humourless laugh.

The urge to get off the podium was growing stronger, and the next words came out hurriedly.

“So, I’m getting my life back on track. And, honestly, it feels good.”

And if Lewis was still unhappy about Mickey’s willingness to share, he could go fuck himself. He all but jumped off the stand, and walked stiffly to his seat, not meeting anyone’s gaze. He heard the smattering of polite applause. Mickey could never figure out why they did that. What, was it to congratulate people on owning up to the fact that they were assholes?

Mickey sat down and was sure to keep his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the lady who’d once forgotten all about her kids during a week-long bender as she came to the front of the room.

At least he hadn’t fucked up that badly.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian Gallagher was back on Chicago’s South Side. It’d been a long time since he’d come home. He’d left what seemed like a lifetime ago, with his only aim to put as much distance between him and his fucked up life as possible. He’d spent the last couple of years drifting from place to place, hoping to fill the emptiness with drugs and booze. He hadn’t been successful, but most of the time he’d been too out of it to care.

But now he was home, and standing outside the last place he would’ve expected to find himself.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a church. Must’ve been before Monica ran off that last time. But here he was now, strung out and his muscles aching. His mind was still kinda hazy, and all he wanted was... some peace. Maybe that was why he was standing at the threshold of the house of a god he’d stopped believing in a long time ago.

He couldn’t find the strength to move, and soon he began to shiver. The wind was cutting through his worn hoodie and into his skin. A hand landing on his shoulder made him jerk in surprise.

“You okay, kid?” the older man asked him. His dark skin was lined with wrinkles and his hair was grizzled.

Ian managed a nod.

“Meetin’ is downstairs,” the man told him with a sympathetic wince.

“Meeting?” Ian croaked.

“Yeah. C’mon,” the guy took hold Ian’s arm in a surprisingly firm grip and steered him inside the church.

The building was quiet, but he could see that they weren’t the only ones inside. People were going through a door that evidently led down into the church’s basement. No one was speaking to each other.

Ian moved along with the older man, shuffling his feet. It seemed to take them a while to get to the staircase. The old man indicated that Ian should go first. He shook his head.

“If you wait for me, you’ll get down there sometime tomorrow,” Ian rasped.

His companion nodded in understanding. He headed down the stairs without looking back. Ian appreciated it. There was no pressure to attend the meeting—Ian guessed he’d find his brother and sister junkies down there—just him having to decide if he wanted to do this.

What the hell? Not like he had anything better to do.

Slowly, painfully, Ian went down the stairs. Despite the ache of withdrawal clawing through him, he managed to huff out a laugh. If only his descent into using had hurt this much; he’d have tried harder to stop the spiral.

Finally making it to the bottom of the stairs, he had to take a second to catch his breath. The weakness in his limbs had him grabbing hold of the railing.

 _Jesus Christ_ , Ian thought. Maybe this whole getting clean thing wasn’t the best idea, not if he was gonna be feeling like this.

Distantly, Ian heard a voice coming from through the doorway just beyond the stairs. Wanting to see the others like him, the ones who’d fallen and were trying to pick themselves back up, Ian forced his feet to move. He leaned against the frame, and stared into the room.

What he saw there distracted him from the throbbing pain in his body. The person doing the talking was painfully familiar to him. His felt his breathing speed up.

Mickey Milkovich was standing in front of a group of people, and he was... talking. The thudding of Ian’s heart in his ears drowned out the other man’s words. He hadn’t seen Mickey in... what was it, seven years now?

Ian stared hungrily at the boy—man, now—who’d broken him. Mickey looked older. Ian knew that it should’ve been obvious, but whenever he’d found himself thinking about Mickey, the image in his head was of the brash, angry boy he’d left behind. But that Mickey was gone. Instead, the man standing there looked tired. The bravado that used to cling to him had disappeared, along with the dirt and bruises.

Mickey was stepping down from the podium, and even his walk was different. Gone was that cocky swagger, replaced by slumped shoulders and a bowed head. Inexplicable pain lanced through Ian. He couldn’t figure out why. He should’ve long since been over the other man, should have forgotten by now what Mickey had meant to him. But seeing Mickey looking like that, looking defeated, hurt.

No longer interested in what the rest of the crowd had to say, Ian turned away from the meeting and stumbled back towards the stairs. He didn’t want to see this, hated that Mickey could still hurt him after all this time, without even knowing it. Making his way back up to the main part of the church was agony, his muscles protesting every step of the way. But he just... he couldn’t stay here.

He shuffled as quickly as he could out of the silent building. Shoving aside the heavy door, Ian drew in deep breaths of the cold night air. All rational thought had abandoned him; he just needed to get the fuck outta here.

Not knowing where the hell he was going, Ian hobbled across the cracked church parking lot. He’d just gotten to the back of the place when his foot caught on the uneven paving. Unable to catch his balance, he went careening forward, and landed on the cold concrete with an “ _Ooof_ ”. He rolled over from his face plant and tried to catch his breath.

Distantly, Ian noticed that a new pain had joined in with the rest. He was kinda surprised that it’d registered, what with everything else that was hurting. Lifting his hands to his face, Ian saw that his palms were bleeding from when he’d used them to break his fall.

For a moment, Ian just lay there. He knew that he needed to get up, knew that he’d freeze his ass off if he stayed like this. But the urgency that had driven him out of the church’s basement had abandoned him, apparently having shattered with his fall. Unable to summon any strength, Ian didn’t move.

He felt his eyes drifting closed.

He didn’t fight it.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey came out of the meeting, hurrying so he could avoid Lewis. The guy would undoubtedly want to talk to him, to congratulate him for bearing his soul to fuckin’ strangers. He’d just made it to the door, when his sponsor’s voice halted him in his tracks.

 “Mickey, wait up,” Lewis rumbled.

Mickey halted reluctantly. He spoke before the other man could.

“You were late,” he said. At Lewis’s blank look, Mickey explained, “For the meeting. What held you up?”

“Found a straggler. Poor fella looked like he couldn’t decide if he should come in or not,” Lewis said, his expression sympathetic.

“So you dragged him in,” Mickey guessed.

Lewis gave an unrepentant shrug. They were quiet for a moment, and Mickey was just about to say goodnight, when his sponsor spoke again.

“I was glad to see you up there. I know how you feel about it, but it’s important that you talk to people who get it,” Lewis said.

Mickey ran a rough hand through his hair, but didn’t otherwise react.

“And I was happy to hear that you’ve reconnected with your sister,” the older man continued carefully. He knew that family was a touchy subject for Mickey, but he also knew how important it was for addicts to have some kind of support base. Lewis had been worried that Mickey didn’t have much of a reason to stay sober. To hear that he and his sister were working toward reconciliation was a relief.

“She’s still pissed,” Mickey said, attempting a nonchalant expression.

“And she no doubt has a good reason for that. But you’re both making the effort to get things back on track, which is important,” Lewis replied.

Their conversation didn’t go much beyond that. The relationship they’d forged, it wasn’t chummy. They wouldn’t go over to each other’s houses to watch the game, or make small talk. But Mickey knew from experience that if ever he was struggling, he could go to Lewis and the man would drop everything.

It was comforting to be able to rely on someone like that.

The two men parted ways, and Mickey made his way over to his car. The lot was mostly quiet, with the occasional blaring of a siren the only sound he could hear. Sometimes, Mickey liked to hang out on the church grounds, just to enjoy the silence. Still, it was late, and he just wanted to go home. Tomorrow was Sunday, which meant he could sleep in some. Mickey stumbled a little, the hazard of the shitty paving jerking him from his thoughts. It took him a minute to notice that there was a dark lump of... something, lying just in front of his car.

Mickey took a closer look, and realised that that _something_ was a person. Whoever it was, was passed out on the floor in a foetal position with a hoodie casting their face in shadow.

It was tempting just to dismiss the bum, to put him in the category of ‘not my fuckin’ problem’. But, since Mickey was trying to stop being an asshole, he took a tentative step toward the huddled figure. He gave the guy—at least, he assumed it was a guy—a nudge with his shoe. No response.

_For fuck’s sake._

Cautiously, Mickey knelt next to the body and gave it a shake. He heard a faint moan. Okay, that was encouraging. At least the asshole wasn’t dead.

“Hey, man, come on, you can’t sleep here,” Mickey told the man.

Nothing.

“If you go inside, one of the priests will probably set you up for the night,” Mickey tried again.

Silence.

Fuck, maybe the guy needed to get to a hospital or something. Reluctantly, Mickey rolled the limp figure over, and reached out to push the hoodie off the other man’s face.

What Mickey saw had him jerking back in surprise. Landing on his ass, he scrambled back before he could stop himself. He couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. For a long minute, Mickey just sat there in the cold, almost-deserted parking lot, and stared at a face he’d never expected to see again.

The same red hair, although it was a mess, hanging in his face in greasy hanks. Freckles and pale skin, but instead of looking natural, the other man looked sick. His face was gaunt, he had dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were chapped.

“Ian?” Mickey whispered in disbelief. The lack of response didn’t irritate him this time; it damn near terrified him. Forgetting the years that had separated them, he made the effort to get his shit together.

Fighting back panic, Mickey scrabbled over to Ian’s side. With a trembling hand, Mickey reached out to touch the redhead’s shoulder. He could feel Gallagher’s bones protruding through the material of the hoodie. Hesitantly, Mickey gave the redhead another shake, more gently this time. Ian’s eyes barely cracked open.

“Gallagher, what the fuck’s wrong with you?” he demanded, more harshly than he intended. Seeing the lack of recognition on the other man’s face, Mickey mentally flailed, not knowing what to do.

“D’you need a doctor, or somethin’?” Mickey asked. Still no reply. But then, the answer should’ve been obvious, right? Who the fuck just decides to take a nap in a fuckin’ parking lot?

Trying to stay calm, Mickey ran his hands over Ian’s body, checking for any injuries. The other man didn’t react to the contact, didn’t flinch or try to push him away. _Jesus Christ_ , what would’ve happened to Ian if someone else had found him? Mickey noticed that the other man was shivering.

Making a snap decision, Mickey got up and hurried over to his car. He yanked the back door open, and headed around to the trunk. He was sure he had a blanket in there, somewhere. Finally, after a minute of rummaging around, Mickey’s hand touched on thick fabric, and he pulled it out. Trying to balance Gallagher’s need for him to be gentle, with his own need to figure out what the fuck was wrong with the other man as quickly as possible, Mickey wrapped the blanket around Ian. 

Something inside Mickey broke as he watched the way the other man latched onto the material.

Scrubbing a rough hand over his face, he reached over to lift Gallagher off the ground. It was only a couple steps to his car, but it’d feel like miles if Ian didn’t cooperate. At least, that was what Mickey was expecting. Once he got Gallagher up, though, and slid an arm around the other man’s waist, Mickey could feel the jutting of a hipbone. Gallagher had lost weight, so much so that Mickey could probably carry him if it came down to it.

The idea made him wanna hurl.

Gallagher shuffled slowly and unsteadily despite the grip Mickey had on him. The redhead all but collapsed into the backseat. Mickey ducked into the car and tried to arrange Ian into a more comfortable position. It was hard—Mickey’d forgotten how damn tall the other man was—but, finally, he’d made sure that Gallagher was settled as he was likely to get.

Mickey shut the door. For a second, he just leaned against the car, the strength abruptly leaving him. In all the years since Gallagher’d been gone, all the times Mickey’d dreamed of seeing him again, this was the last thing he could’ve ever imagined.

Gallagher was a wreck.

Mickey let himself stay there for a little while, trying to adjust, to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do with the broken man lying in the backseat of his car. Wiping away the stupid, unwelcome tears that had trailed down his face, Mickey got into the vehicle. The thing started reluctantly, and Mickey slowly backed out of the parking lot.


	2. The World has Got Him Down on His Knees

They were halfway to the hospital before Mickey finally heard movement from the backseat. He’d decided to get Gallagher checked out; he wasn’t sure what was wrong with the other man, but Mickey didn’t want to risk taking the redhead back to his place if he needed medical attention.

As it turned out, that wouldn’t be necessary.

He heard a pained moan from the back of the car. Relief flooded him. Mickey had been terrified that there was something really wrong with Ian, silently panicking at the other man’s stillness.

“Hey, you okay, Gallagher?” Mickey worked to keep his voice even.

“Wha... Where am I?” Ian muttered groggily.

“I’m takin’ you to the hospital,” Mickey said. “You don’t look too hot; I think you need to get checked out.”

Gallagher was quiet for a second before he started yelling.

“No, no, no! No hospital!” The other man’s voice was high with panic.

Mickey jerked in surprise. Looking into the rear-view mirror, he saw that Gallagher had thrown the blanket off himself and was scrabbling for the door handle.

“ _God-fuckin’-damn it_ ,” Mickey cursed.

Quickly, he pulled over to the side of the road. Just in time, too. Ian had managed to open the car door, and was practically throwing himself out of the vehicle. Mickey swore again. With Gallagher as out of it as he was, he’d probably get hit by a fuckin’ car.

Barely remembering to pull up the handbrake, Mickey launched himself after the other man. Thankfully, Ian hadn’t gotten far. He was stumbling away blindly, trying to get as far from the car as possible. Not wanting to scare the redhead, but not seeing any other option, Mickey hurried after him.

It didn’t take much; Gallagher was unsteady and slow... and heading into the road.

_Fuck_

Mickey reached out and grabbed hold of the other man’s arm, jerking Gallagher back to the relative safety of the shoulder of the road. Ian flailed against him weakly, fighting to get away.

“Ian, _damn it_ , stop!” Mickey pleaded. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

The use of his name made the other man to pause. He looked at Mickey more closely, his eyes still unfocused. Seeing the redhead’s hesitation, Mickey used the opportunity to calm him down further.

“Ian, it’s me... it’s Mickey. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

There was no sound but for the other man’s harsh breathing. For a moment, Mickey wondered whether Ian would even remember him while he was like this. He was just about to try to get Gallagher back into the car when the other man finally spoke.

“Mick?” His voice was hoarse and trembled a little.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Mickey said again, loosening his grasp on the redhead slightly.

That was a mistake. Ian’s legs were obviously unsteady, and he listed to the side. Grabbing hold of the other man again, Mickey steered him back to the car. He allowed Gallagher to lean against the passenger door, and took hold of the man’s face in a gentle grip.

“Ian, I need to know what you took.” Mickey spoke slowly and clearly. He could only think of one explanation for why Gallagher was acting like this.

“Didn’t take nothin’,” the other man mumbled. All the fight from earlier seemed to have drained out of him. Instead, his arms were limp and he gave the occasional shiver.

“Okay, then what were you takin’?” Mickey pressed.

Gallagher didn’t answer, his eyes beginning to drift shut again. Mickey gave him a shake, forcing the other man to focus.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” Mickey said, trying to suppress his sense of urgency.

“Some H every now an’ then,” Ian finally slurred.

Disbelief coursed through Mickey. Gallagher’d been shooting fuckin’ H? And obviously more often than “now and then”, or he wouldn’t be like this.

“Jesus Christ, Ian,” he growled, running his hands over his face. He couldn’t fuckin’ believe that Gallagher would be so _goddamn stupid._ He’d gotten out, had had all those plans and dreams, and he’d given them up. And for what?

It took everything Mickey had in him not to lose his shit. Taking one deep breath after another, he worked to keep calm. It was only when he was sure that he wouldn’t start yelling that he spoke again.

“When last did you use?”

Ian gave a jerky little shrug. Apparently sensing Mickey's impatience, the other man’s brow furrowed in concentration. After a few seconds, he finally answered.

“Night before last, maybe. I don’t really remember,” he mumbled.

Mickey quickly ran through what he knew about heroin withdrawal. It wasn’t much; Terry’s drug of choice had been meth, and it wasn’t like the prick had ever tried to cold turkey it.

“Alright, I need to get you to a hospital so—”

“No, Mick, please.” Ian cut him off desperately. He took hold of Mickey’s arm in a weak grasp. “Please, I-I just... I need to sl-sleep,” he stammered.

Indecision clawed at Mickey. He didn’t wanna agitate Gallagher any more than he already was, but he had no fuckin’ clue how to help the other man. His poison had been booze, and he knew how goddamn hard it’d been to kick that habit. Weaning Ian off H would probably be a thousand times worse.

Belatedly, Mickey thought about Ian’s family. They’d moved outta the South Side a year or two back, moving on to greener pastures when Fiona had married that Jimmy guy. Sometimes Lip came back to the area, asking round about his missing brother, but Mickey hadn’t seen him in a while. Still, someone was gonna have to call them.

Looked like that someone was gonna be him.

Still, Mickey wasn’t sure it was the best idea to take Ian back to his apartment. What if something else was wrong with the other man and Mickey made shit worse? He tried to push the hospital thing again.

“Ian, I really think you need someone to check you out.”

Something crossed the redhead’s features. Disappointment. Mickey hadn’t seen that look in forever, but he’d gotten real familiar with it back when they were... yeah. He stopped that thought in its tracks. It hurt enough to think about Gallagher on a good day. Looking at him now, strung out and broken, and remembering the way things used to be, made him wanna crawl into a bottle.

The other man tried to straighten. He was only marginally successful. Holding onto the car so he didn’t fall over, Ian’s voice was flat as he spoke.

“No hospital,” he said firmly. “And I don’t need you to take care of me. If you’d just... just take me home, that’d be great.”

Mickey felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Fuck, he didn’t wanna be the one to break this to Gallagher. Dreading the other man’s reaction, Mickey tried to keep his voice level.

“Ian, your-your family... they left,” he said awkwardly. The other man’s face went even paler at the words. _Great fuckin’ job, Cyrano_ , Mickey mentally cussed himself out.

“What?” Ian whispered. “I don’t... what d’you mean, they left?”

Mentally scrambling around for a way to explain to Ian without hurting him further, Mickey spoke slowly.

“You... you’ve been gone a long time, Ian. They looked for you, but you never came home. They still come by and stuff. It’s just...” Mickey shrugged lamely as he finished, “It’s been a really long time.”

“D’you,” Ian swallowed hard before continuing. “D’you know where they are?”

Mickey shook his head. He watched Gallagher deflate, and he couldn’t fuckin’ handle it. He reached out to put a gentle hand on Ian’s shoulder.

“Look, forget about the hospital,” he said. “Let’s get you back to my place so you can sleep it off. I’ll call Mandy, see if she’s still got Lip’s number or somethin’. That sound good?”

Ian nodded, but Mickey didn’t think he was really paying attention. Hating the dejected slump of the other man’s shoulders, Mickey spoke again in the hopes of distracting him.

“You hungry? I can get you somethin’ to eat,” he offered.

“Nah, I’ll be okay,” Ian said without looking at him.

Not knowing what else to do, Mickey wrapped his arm around Gallagher’s waist to lead him to the passenger seat. Once again, he could feel how thin the other man had gotten, could tell how weak he was from the way Ian leaned his weight against him.

Gallagher got into the car without a fight. He let Mickey put his seatbelt on, and didn’t comment when Mickey retrieved the blanket from the back seat to drape over him. His silence worried Mickey; he knew the redhead wasn’t really in any shape to carry on a lively conversation, but the Ian he remembered used to be hard to shut up.

Not knowing what to say, Mickey started the car and drove to his place without making any effort to draw Gallagher out of his shell.

Hell, more likely than not, he was the last person Ian would wanna talk to.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian’s head was foggy. The soreness of his muscles had faded to the back of his mind. He was still in a state of disbelief. This whole fucked up situation... it was surreal. He was sitting in a car with Mickey fuckin’ Milkovich, suffering from withdrawal, and he’d just been told that his family had left him behind.

Logically, Ian knew that his brothers and sisters had their own lives; that they needed to move on. His contact with his family had been sporadic at best, and beyond texting them to let them know he was still alive, he hadn’t heard from his family in too long to think about.

Still, hearing that they’d moved away from the South Side had him feeling... abandoned.

Ian wasn’t paying much attention to where they were going, didn’t much care where the man sitting beside him took him. He was too lost in his own thoughts, wondering when the hell his life had turned to shit.

The car hit a pothole, and the feel of the car bouncing around made Ian’s stomach lurch. Any thoughts of his family vanished with his sudden effort not to puke.

“Pull over,” he gritted out to Mickey. He hastily took off his seatbelt.

The other man took one look at him, and immediately did as he was told. The car jerked to a halt, and Ian reached for the door blindly. He fumbled for the handle, growing increasingly frantic when he couldn’t find it. Mickey leaned across him and shoved the door open.

Ian stumbled out of the car. He’d barely taken two steps before his stomach rebelled. Collapsing down onto his knees, he retched violently. He could distantly make out the sounds of Mickey heading towards him. Misery and humiliation swamped him. Unable to hold himself up any longer, Ian could feel his arms giving out from under him.

Before he could do a face plant in his own vomit, a pair of arms caught hold of his shoulders. Gently, more gently than Ian would’ve believed the other man capable of, Mickey pulled him away from the mess on the floor.

Rolling over onto his back, Ian met the other man’s concerned gaze. Despite the nausea still twisting his stomach, Ian was able to muse that he’d forgotten how blue Mickey’s eyes were. He couldn’t dwell on the thought, though, because the other man was soon pulling him into a sitting position.

“Just let me lie down a minute,” he protested hoarsely. His throat was hurting.

“You wanna choke on your own puke?” Mickey asked him sharply. His tone was at odds with his still careful hands. “Take a couple deep breaths.”

Ian did as he was told. Even though they’d moved away from the spot where he’d thrown up, he could still smell it. The sour tang made his stomach lurch again. Ian quickly turned away from Mickey as he felt the bile rising at the back of his throat.

He heaved for another few seconds. His stomach was empty, but that didn’t stop the shudders from racing through him. Ian gasped for breath once spasms had faded, and he could feel that he was covered in sweat. Abruptly, Ian wondered if he shouldn’t just ask Mickey to find a dealer who’d hook him up. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

“Got it all out?” Mickey asked him. His hands were rubbing soothingly over Ian’s back.

Unable to look at the other man, Ian just nodded.

“C’mon,” Mickey said. “It’s only another couple miles to my place.” He stood up and quickly brushed himself off. Reaching down, Mickey took hold of Ian’s hands and pulled him to his feet. Ian wobbled a little; he clenched his teeth in frustration.

Hating this feeling, hating that someone else was seeing him like this, Ian just wanted to collapse and pray for it all to end. Still, he allowed Mickey to tow him back to the car once again. Ian spared a moment to be grateful that he hadn’t hurled in the other man’s car. Bad enough that Mickey felt obligated to help him out; the idea of him cleaning up Ian’s puke was mortifying.

The car started up again. They drove more slowly this time, and Mickey had opened the windows, obviously hoping that the breeze would beat back the nausea. Ian didn’t protest, even though it was cold. At least, with the windows down, he could just stick his head out if it became necessary.

It did.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When they finally arrived at his apartment, Mickey let out a sigh of relief. The ride over had been... rough. They’d had to stop twice more on the way so Gallagher could retch and splutter. But they were here now, and even though the place he was staying was a shit hole, it at least had a flushing toilet for Ian’s convenience.

The problem, though, would be getting there.

Mickey lived on the fourth floor, and the elevator’d been busted since he’d moved in. Getting Gallagher up into his apartment was gonna be a bitch. Still, dwelling on it was gonna make it easier, or make the stairs magically disappear.

Gallagher hadn’t said much during the trip, probably afraid to open his mouth, and he didn’t react when Mickey pulled up to the building. Reaching out hesitantly, Mickey poked the other man in the shoulder.

“Hey, you okay, man?” he asked.

“Just great,” Gallagher answered dully. “Let’s go dancing.”

Huh. Well, he couldn’t be doing too badly if he still had it in him to resort to sarcasm. It was a comforting thought.

“Yeah, alright, asshole. Let’s get you outta here,” Mickey said before opening his door.

Mickey took a quick look at the people outside his building. He noticed a drug deal going down a couple yards away, and one lonely bum camped out near the entrance. They wouldn’t make any trouble.

Helping Gallagher out of the car and to the excuse for a security gate was easy. The other man leaned his weight against Mickey while he punched in the code, and followed him meekly as they entered the building. But when they approached the stairs, Ian balked.

“What floor do you live on?” Gallagher asked, checking the steps out apprehensively.

“Fourth,” Mickey said shortly.

Ian let out a disbelieving little laugh. “Not gonna happen,” he said with a shake of his head.

“It’s not that far,” Mickey told him. “And I’m right here with you. You’ll make it.”

“No, Mick, I don’t think—” Gallagher began before Mickey abruptly cut him off.

“Stop bein’ a pussy,” Mickey snapped. He knew he was being an asshole, but goddamn it, he wanted to get the other man inside so he could take care of him. Ian had practically puked his guts out on the way over here, and Mickey just wanted to make sure he wasn’t dehydrating or some shit.  

His comment earned him a frosty look. Good. If Gallagher was pissed, he’d hopefully drag his ass up to the apartment as a “fuck you” to Mickey for being a dick.

He could feel Ian straightening, trying to take more of his own weight. With that familiar obstinate set to his chin, Ian took a step forward.

Mickey could tell that the effort was costing the other man. Every couple stairs, they had to stop so that Gallagher could catch his breath. Mickey hated listening to his pained wheezing; it brought back memories of a time when Gallagher could run and do those stupid ROTC obstacle courses without breaking a sweat.

Finally, they made it to his apartment. Mickey unlocked the front door and headed straight for the couch. He gently lowered Gallagher and let him drop down onto the cushions. Ignoring the limp slouch the other man fell into, Mickey went to relock the door. No use inviting trouble, right?

“Yo, you hungry?” he asked the redhead as he took the three steps from the front door to his tiny kitchenette.

Gallagher’s answer was muffled; Mickey couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a “yes” or a “no”. Well, tough shit. Gallagher looked like hell, so he was gonna eat something even if Mickey had to shove it down his throat.

The kitchen sink was full of dishes that he hadn’t been bothered to wash for the last while. Pulling a face, Mickey opened up one of the cupboards, more out of hope than any real expectation that there’d be clean glasses. 

Nope. Not a thing.

Mickey shrugged out of his jacket and dumped it on the counter, before picking a cup at random. He gave the thing a cursory cleaning before filling it with water.

“I know they say ginger ale’s good when you’re puking your lungs out, but it’s never really been my drink of choice,” he said to Gallagher as he came into the living room. “I’ll get some tomorrow. I think I got saltines around here somewhere, though, so that’s good.”

Ian’s eyes had drifted shut, and he didn’t appear to be paying Mickey any attention.

“Sleepy face, I’m talkin’ to you,” Mickey said loudly. He nudged the other man with his shoe a couple of times. “C’mon, man, you need to eat somethin’.”

“Not hungry.” Ian’s voice was weak.

“Yeah?” Mickey asked sceptically. “You wanna tell me when’s the last time you ate?”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian’s brow furrowed as he considered Mickey’s words. Shit, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something substantial. He barely managed to suppress a groan. Why was Mickey pushing this? Wasn’t it a little late to pretend he cared?

“Here, drink this,” Mickey said, holding out a glass.

Not having the energy to argue, and hoping that if he did as he was told the other man would stop bitching at him, Ian reached out and took what Mickey was offering. Taking a cautious sip, he realised that he was really fuckin’ thirsty. He started glugging at the water without thought.

“Hey,” Mickey said in concern when Ian began choking. “Take it easy,” he continued, taking the glass away.

“Can-can I,” Ian began. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Can I have some more?”

Mickey silently returned to the kitchen to refill the cup.

“Slowly,” the other man instructed him before handing the water over.

Obligingly, Ian took a small sip from the glass. As soon as Mickey was back in the kitchen, though, Ian began drinking the water as fast as he could. He wanted to swirl it around in his mouth to get rid of the sour taste coating his tongue, but he had nowhere to spit it.

Mickey returned to the living room bearing the vaunted saltines. He scowled when he saw Ian’s empty glass.

The crackers were thrust in Ian’s direction, and Mickey took possession of the glass.

“Remember to chew, tough guy,” Mickey grumbled as he made yet another trek to the kitchen.

Ian looked down at the saltines and had zero appetite. He knew that he needed to eat something, and that Mickey wasn’t gonna let up until he did, but the idea of eating stale crackers made him think that maybe he’d rather go hungry.

Mickey gave him an impatient look when he realised that Ian hadn’t started eating yet.

“They’re good for settlin’ your stomach,” Mickey reminded him.

“I’m feeling a lot better now,” Ian told him. He didn’t have the energy to dump the saltines on Mickey’s cluttered coffee table, so he placed them next to him on the couch.

Mickey continued to glare at him. Shifting under the weight of that look, Ian cast about for something to say to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled over them.

“You’re right,” he said finally.

“About what?” Mickey asked testily. Okay, the other man obviously wasn’t in the mood for platitudes.

Ian heaved a sigh. “I do need to eat somethin’,” he admitted. “You, uh, you got anything else?”

The other man stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Ian thought Mickey was gonna tell him to fuck off. Ian was on the verge of telling him to forget it when Mickey spoke again.

“Mac and cheese sound okay?” he asked gruffly.

“That’d be great,” Ian replied.

Within a few minutes, Ian could hear Mickey rummaging around in the kitchen. He took off his hoodie, and dropped it to the floor. Settling himself on the couch, he mused that this was the most comfortable he’d been in a while. The sounds of Mickey cooking in the other room, accompanied by the occasional curse, lulled him to sleep.

Sometime later, Ian awoke to the feel of a pair of hands on him. He reacted instinctively. Shoving his arms out, Ian tried to scramble away from whoever was touching him, and tried to get his bearings.

He heard a familiar voice letting out a surprised “Fuck,” before the hands quickly pulled away.

“Hey, Ian, relax! It’s just me!”

Ian stared at the man in front of him blankly for a moment before everything registered. He was with Mickey. Mickey had brought him back to his apartment, and was trying to take care of him.

Ian felt a wave of relief crash over him, followed quickly by embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Mickey shrugged the incident off, and gestured to the plate of food sitting on the coffee table. Ian saw that some of the clutter had been shifted around to make space for it.

Moving slowly, Ian sat up on the couch and reached for the food. He balanced the plate on his knees carefully and murmured a “Thank you,” to Mickey when the other man handed him a knife and fork.

The first bite was like heaven. Unable to hold back a little moan of pleasure at eating _real food_ , Ian began shovelling the stuff into his mouth as quickly as possible.


	3. Feel so Low from Living High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took so long, but I had exams and stuff.

Mickey had to look away from where Ian was practically inhaling his dinner. Not for the first time tonight, Mickey wondered what the fuck had happened to Gallagher. To remember how he’d been when he’d left—pissed off and hurting, sure, but healthy and whole—and see what the redhead had been reduced to...

Mickey was having a hard time adjusting.

It didn’t take Gallagher long to clean his plate. The other man let out a huge yawn before slumping down into his seat. Mickey noted with some relief that his colour was better, that the whole ‘death warmed over’ look the redhead was rocking had faded slightly.

“You want some more?” Mickey asked as he stood up to reach for the empty plate.

Ian shook his head, and stretched out to lie down on the too small couch. He burrowed his face into the cushions, and spoke so softly that Mickey couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“What’s that mumbles?” Mickey asked. No response. “C’mon, Gallagher, use your words,” he said patiently.

“Wanna sleep.” The words were muffled.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Mickey stepped away from the couch and started with the clean up. Normally, he’d leave it for the morning, if he bothered at all, but he needed something to do with his hands. Made him feel less helpless. Mickey began with the long-neglected dishes, cleaned out the pot that he’d used to make the mac and cheese, and wiped down the counters. It’d taken him close to two hours.

While he’d been busy, he’d occasionally checked on Gallagher. The redhead had curled up on the couch as much as was possible for his long limbs. There was something about the position that made him look oddly child-like. Mickey wanted to offer him the bed, but he didn’t wanna wake Gallagher up. Instead, he hurried to his bedroom, and returned with the comforter. He covered the other man, and watched as Ian burrowed into it. Forcing down the rising tide of emotion that made it hard for him to breathe, Mickey went to bed.

He spent a couple of hours tossing and turning. His brain wouldn’t shut off, kept bombarding him with images of him and Ian in a happier time. He’d finally started to drift off when a sudden sound jerked him awake. Having no idea what the fuck it was, Mickey hurriedly climbed out of bed. Reaching behind the bedroom door for the Louisville Slugger he kept in case of emergencies, Mickey crept into the hallway.

The sound came again, and Mickey realised that someone was in the bathroom. The adrenaline that had been flowing through him quickly faded, and a sinking feeling took its place instead.

Turning on the light, and using the end of the bat to push the door to the bathroom open, what he saw there had him biting back a curse.

Gallagher had obviously tried to make it to the toilet in time, but had lost control of his body before he could get there. The other man had missed the toilet and, judging by the smell, had soiled himself too.

Mickey had never seen anything like this, and it killed him to know that it was happening to Ian. Carelessly tossing the bat aside, he stepped into the bathroom.

He moved forward, skirting the mess, to take hold of Gallagher’s shoulders. Even though the other man was shuddering with each heave of his stomach, he still made to pull away from Mickey.

“L-l-leave me al-alone,” Ian finally managed to choke out.

“Can’t do that,” Mickey said, trying to keep it together. He waited for the shudders to stop wracking the other man’s body before finally letting go of the redhead. Moving around Gallagher, he reached over to turn on the shower. He spent a moment fiddling with the taps, trying to get the temperature right, before turning back to the other man.

Ian was shivering, and he wouldn’t meet Mickey’s gaze.

Carefully, Mickey reached out to help Gallagher sit up.

“Lift your arms,” he instructed quietly. When the other man struggled to do so, Mickey moved to do it himself. He raised one arm, and then the other, pulling Gallagher’s shirt off him. He wrapped his arm around the other man, pulling him to his feet. Mickey had let go of him for a second to push down the ruined jeans, when Ian swayed alarmingly.

“Gallagher, hey!” Mickey said loudly as he quickly grabbed hold of the redhead again. “I need you to hold onto me for just a sec, okay?” Without waiting for a response, he took Ian’s arms and lifted them to his shoulders. They were limp around him, and the only thing keeping Gallagher upright was Mickey’s body.

Finally, Mickey managed to jerk Ian’s jeans and underwear down. Now for the tricky part.

“Ian, I need you to sit on the edge of the tub real quick. Can you do that for me?”

There was a garbled reply that Mickey took for agreement. Cautiously, Mickey tugged the rest of Ian’s clothes off; quickly, before Gallagher could keel over, Mickey pulled the t-shirt he’d worn to bed over his head.

“Right, so what I need you to do now—”

“Leave me alone,” Ian whimpered, making a feeble attempt to pull away from him.

Mickey forced himself to be stern, injected steel into his tone.

“You can cut that the fuck out, you hear me?” he barked. “I need you to step into the tub so I can get you clean.” More gently, Mickey assured the man, “I won’t let you fall.”

It took a little while for Gallagher to gather his strength and, holding onto Mickey as tightly as he could in this state, he climbed into the bath and under the spray of water. Not wanting the other man to slip, Mickey hurriedly followed suit.

He let Ian stand under the warm water until only the occasional shiver moved through him. Then, without letting go of the redhead, Mickey reached out with one hand to find the soap. Making sure to keep his touch impersonal—Mickey didn’t want Ian to think he was being groped, and panic—he washed Gallagher off. While he tried not to think too hard about what he was doing, Mickey couldn’t help but notice the needle tracks.

They’d been in there a while, and Mickey could feel the water getting cold. Reaching around the other man, he turned the taps off. The quiet that came now that shower was off was oppressive. When Ian didn’t move, Mickey ran his hand up and down the other man’s back. Gallagher didn’t respond.

“Ian?” His voice was tinged with panic. He stepped back a little, holding the redhead at arms’ length. Gallagher let out a pained little moan.

Trying to disguise his relief, Mickey waited until Ian had opened his eyes. Meeting that hazy gaze, Mickey spoke again.

“We’re gettin’ out now, okay? You gotta to be careful, otherwise we’re both gonna see our asses, alright?”

Ian managed a weak nod.

As it turned out, getting into the tub had been a goddamn picnic. Trying to get a decent foothold while keeping Gallagher from toppling over wasn’t made any easier by the fact that the other man was all but limp in his arms. But they finally managed it.

Mickey was soaked, but he wrapped Ian in a towel first. Last thing either of them needed was for the shakes to set in again. Once he had the other man dry, Mickey helped him sit on the edge of the tub again, away from the mess that was still on the floor.

“Gimme a sec, okay? I just need to dry off, and then I’ll get you to bed,” Mickey said as he rummaged around for another towel. He stripped off his boxers and dried himself roughly. Once he’d wrapped the towel around his waist, he reached for Ian again, who looked like he was on the verge of passing out as he was sitting there.

Mickey steered the other man to his bedroom. Yanking the covers back, he helped Ian lie down; the redhead was asleep before he hit the pillow.

Exhaustion was creeping up on him too. The temptation to just crash next to Gallagher was almost overwhelming, but Mickey ignored it. Instead, he took the trashcan he kept in his room and placed it next to the bed, on the side where Gallagher was lying. Hopefully, if there was anything left for the other man to throw up, he’d be able to aim for the thing.

After pulling on a pair of sweats and an old ratty t-shirt, Mickey headed to the kitchen. He found some cleaning supplies under the sink, and looked around for the mop. He could’ve sworn he had one... After searching the entire place, Mickey realised that he was stalling.

Trying not to think about what he was doing, Mickey got to work in the bathroom. He was tempted to check on Gallagher, but he knew that if he didn’t get this done all at once, he wouldn’t be able to come back. Trying to work as quickly and thoroughly as he could, Mickey managed to get the place clean. The scent of chemicals gave him a headache, but it was infinitely preferable to what it’d smelled like before.

Not having the energy to shower, even though he knew he probably reeked, Mickey stumbled back to his bedroom.

Looking over at the bed, Mickey saw that Ian hadn’t moved. There was no evidence of him having been sick, and the relief was instantaneous. Sliding down the wall facing the bed, Mickey settled himself on the floor. It didn’t take long for sleep to start tugging at him.

He didn’t fight it. Instead, he closed his eyes and let the sound of Ian’s slow, even breathing lull him to sleep.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian woke up, and immediately wished he hadn’t. His muscles were screaming at him, his head was pounding, and it felt like he’d swallowed razor blades. The moment he opened his eyes, an intensely bright light assaulted him. Ian immediately shut them, and jerked his head away.

Big mistake.

It took a minute for the pounding in his skull to fade; it was then that Ian realised two things. The first was that he was in a bed, and the second was that he was naked.

 _Jesus Christ, not again_. Shame and misery washed through him. He didn’t know if he could deal with waking up in another stranger’s bed.

But... no. Hazy memories began to resurface. He was with Mickey, in the other man’s apartment. Mickey had found him last night and taken care of him.

Ian could hear movement from outside the bedroom. Sitting up slowly and carefully, he glanced around the room in search of clothes. Not seeing anything, he was just about to wrap the sheet around him, when the bedroom door creaked open.

Mickey paused for a second before pushing the door all the way open. He didn’t come inside; instead, he lingered in the doorway, his expression concerned.

“You okay?” he asked gruffly.

Ian nodded, and immediately regretted it.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, holding onto his aching head.

“Just after one,” Mickey replied.

“In the afternoon?” Ian asked in disbelief. He could remember a time not so long ago when he used to be an early riser, when he’d get up at the crack of dawn to go for a run, just because he could.

Mickey’s lips quirked at Ian’s tone, but the show of humour didn’t make it to his eyes. The other man was watching him intently, the worry not having abated. Ian felt... vulnerable under the force of that stare. He shifted uncomfortably.

“I, uh, I can’t seem to find my clothes,” Ian finally muttered.

“Yeah, I put ‘em in the trash,” Mickey told him. The other man finally entered the bedroom and headed for the closet. He pulled out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He placed them on the edge of the bed, but he didn’t leave.

“They’re probably gonna be a little on the short side. We’ll go get you some stuff soon as you’re feelin’ up to it.”

“Thanks,” Ian said, unable to meet the other man’s gaze. The humiliation of what had happened the previous night burned through him. He hated that Mickey felt that he had to help Ian out.

Mickey gave a careless shrug. There was silence, and it began to stretch out between them awkwardly. Mickey cleared his throat before saying, “I’ll just let you... do your thing.”

Ian stayed in the bed for a little while after the bedroom door closed behind the other man. He felt like shit, wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day in bed. Gathering his resolve, Ian slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. Standing up unsteadily, he reached for the clothes Mickey had left. Pulling the sweats on was harder than he’d anticipated, and by the time he’d gotten them on, he was panting from the exertion.

Once he caught his breath again, Ian looked down at himself. For the first time in a long while, he felt his lips twitch into a slight smile. Mickey was right: they were a little short.

The shirt came next. It was a kinda tight, but that wasn’t what grabbed his attention. It was the fact that, even after all this time, Mickey’s shirt still smelled of the same detergent. The idea that this one small thing hadn’t changed, even when so much else had, was reassuring.  Feeling stupid, but wanting to hold onto that small comfort, Ian blinked back the tears suddenly blurring his vision.

He walked around the room unsteadily, keeping a hand on the wall to hold himself upright. Opening the door, he stumbled down the hall and towards the bathroom. Dread filling him, Ian opened the door slowly. He froze in place and stared. Heat began creeping over his face.

The bathroom was spotless, and Ian could detect the faintest whiff of chemicals. There was no evidence of what had happened to him the night before. Moving like an old man, Ian slowly finished up in the bathroom. Instead of heading back to bed, he walked down the hall towards the living room and kitchen.

Mickey was parked on the couch, watching the tv with the sound off. He looked up when Ian came into the room, and immediately stood to help him. Fighting the urge to shrug the other man off, Ian allowed Mickey to hold onto him and steer him to the couch. It chafed, being treated like an invalid, but Ian wasn’t stupid; he knew what kind of shape he was in.

After making sure he was settled, Mickey headed into the kitchen.

“You want somethin’ to eat?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Ian.

“Yeah, ‘cause that worked out great the last time,” Ian snapped. He was cold again, could feel the shivers running through him. It was all he could do to hold back the chattering of his teeth, and that fact was making him irritable.

Mickey didn’t blink at his tone. He gave a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“I’ll make toast. Went down to the Kash and Grab, bought some stuff while you were out.”

Ian let that temporarily distract him. He hadn’t thought about the convenience store where he used to work in forever.

“Linda still there?” he asked.

Ian could see Mickey’s scowl from across the room.

“Uh-huh. Asked me if I was comin’ to steal from the store again. Never fuckin’ mind that I haven’t done that in, like, months.”

Months? Ian looked up at him curiously, but the other man had turned his back and was rummaging around in the fridge. Mickey looked like he was trying to juggle a bottle of ginger ale, two eggs, and a loaf of bread. The accompanying swearing made Ian want to smile despite the ache that was still clawing at his muscles.

“And fuckin’ towel head showed up again,” Mickey continued with a snort of disgust. He’d just put the bread in the toaster, and was starting with the eggs. Ian could hear the hiss of the frying pan.

“Who, Kash?” Ian was surprised. He couldn’t imagine what would bring the older man back to the South Side and his wife.

“Fuckin’ moron,” Mickey sneered. “Word is, Linda pulled a gun on him, and told him to get the fuck outta her store.” Here the other man let out a little snicker. “Didn’t go back there for, like, a fuckin’ week after that. Bitch wasn’t takin’ shit from anyone.”

Ian grinned. He could easily imagine Linda ordering her husband out of the Kash and Grab at gunpoint.

Mickey didn’t speak again after that, focusing on making breakfast. Ian didn’t try to drag the other man into conversation the way he once would have. Instead, he watched Mickey moving around the kitchen for a few minutes. Remembering the last time he’d seen the other man being so domestic hurt, so Ian hastily looked away. Staring unseeingly at the tv in front of him, he didn’t look up again until a plate was being shoved at him.

Dry toast.                     

Ian gave Mickey an unimpressed look. The other man shrugged.

“Look, how ‘bout we see if you can keep that down first, okay? If you don’t hurl for a half hour or so, I’ll make you some eggs.”

That was fair enough, Ian supposed. He took an unenthusiastic bite of his breakfast. With the promise of eggs at the forefront of his mind, he finished his toast off. The stuff was rough and seemed to scrape his throat as it went down, and Ian found himself looking around for something to drink. Mickey handed him a glass of ginger ale before he could ask.

Ian’s stomach was still feeling kinda tender, and he realised that maybe it was a good thing Mickey’d told him to wait before he had anything else. He took small sips of his ginger ale while the other man ate his breakfast in the kitchen.

Soon, Mickey came into the living room and took the dishes from Ian. But instead of taking them back to the kitchen, he put them on the floor and sat on the coffee table across from Ian. The other man’s expression was serious.

“Ian, you need to call your family.”


	4. We Fight It Out, We Work It Out

Mickey watched as the openness that had gradually crept across Ian’s features fled at his words. The other man’s expression hardened as he shifted on the couch, looking away from Mickey.

Wanting to kick himself for blurting it out like that, Mickey took a deep breath before speaking.

“Mandy and Lip are still on an’ off, sometimes. I’m pretty sure she’s still got his number somewhere.”

Ian didn’t respond, didn’t so much as blink, and Mickey felt the first prickles of frustration. Still, he was determined to convince Gallagher to do this.

“Your family needs to know you’re okay,” he pressed. “They’ve been worr—”

“I’m not okay,” Ian said quietly.

“What?” Mickey asked, temporarily distracted.

“I’m not okay, Mick,” the other man repeated. He met Mickey’s gaze, and made a sweeping gesture down his body. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”

Mickey made a choked noised before almost yelling, “Are you outta your goddamn mind?” Seeing Ian flinch a little, he made an attempt to moderate his tone. “You’ve been gone for years, Ian. For a while, I thought you were fuckin’ dead. How d’you think they’ve felt?”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’ve been real worried,” the redhead said bitterly. He made to stand up, but Mickey grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him back down to the couch. Mickey knew that he needed to be more careful with Gallagher, but he was too pissed off to care right now.

“Don’t you fuckin’ act like you know shit about what happened after you left,” Mickey spat out. “After the first couple months, your family was fine, ‘cause they thought you’d be back. ‘Cept, you didn’t fuckin’ come back, asshole. They put up so many goddamn fliers; I couldn’t walk down the street without seein’ your face...”

He fought to keep his voice from breaking. The only thing that’d kept him going after Ian had taken off was his belief that the redhead had gotten outta the South Side, and was happily living out his G.I. Joe fantasy. Mickey’d assumed that Gallagher’s family had known what was goin’ on with him.

The first time he’d caught sight of those missing person posters, the desperate hope that Ian was happy had shattered. Because there was no way Gallagher was okay if he hadn’t contacted his family.

This time it was Mickey who wouldn’t meet Ian’s eyes. He got up and paced the length of the living room once before speaking again.

“They deserve to know that you’re back,” he said, trying to sound calm.

He turned around to find that Gallagher’s elbows were resting on his knees, and his face was buried in his hands. Exhaustion clung to him.

“I don’t want them to see me like this,” Ian said again, his voice muffled. Taking a shuddering breath, he straightened, seemingly gathering his resolve. “And you shouldn’t have to deal with me like this either.”

Mickey stared at the redhead in confusion. What the fuck was he talkin’ about?

Ian lurched to his feet and shuffled unsteadily towards the hallway, most likely heading for the bedroom. Almost without thinking, Mickey stepped in front of the other man, blocking his path.

“What’s goin’ on with you? What d’you mean, I shouldn’t see you like this?” Mickey asked. He stared at Ian for a moment before it sank in. “What, you’re gonna fuckin’ split again?”

The look in Gallagher’s eyes said everything.

Stepping away from the redhead before he gave in to the urge to shake him, Mickey ran his hands through his hair. He let out a harsh bark of laughter. Gallagher had stayed for just long enough to remind Mickey of how much he’d missed the guy, and now he was gonna leave. After almost a year of refusing the solace alcohol offered, Mickey now thought he was gonna die of thirst.

Mickey didn’t even stop to grab a coat, ignoring Ian’s, “Mick, just wait,” and stalked out of the apartment. He slammed the door as hard as he could, making out the sound of one of his neighbours yelling “Asshole!” Telling himself that he didn’t care if Ian was there when he got back, Mickey barrelled down the stairs, past the security gate, and into the street.

His heart was pounding. Almost desperately, Mickey wanted to go to The Alibi, to get so fuckin’ wasted that the memory of tired green eyes staring back at him would just wash away.

Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.

_C’mon, please, answer_ , Mickey thought desperately. He was just about to hang up when a familiar voice came from across the line.

“Mickey?” Lewis asked in his rumbling voice.

“You, uh, you got a minute?” Mickey asked, trying to hold himself together.

“What’s goin’ on?” Lewis knew this wasn’t a social call.

“I’m... _fuck_...” Mickey couldn’t get the words out.

“Where are you?” Lewis asked calmly.

“Outside my apartment,” Mickey whispered. He felt like he was gonna vibrate out of his skin.

“Wait there for me, okay? Don’t move,” Lewis ordered before hanging up.

Mickey paced back and forth in front of his building, probably looking like one of the many junkies who littered the area. Lewis pulled up a few minutes later, having probably committed a dozen traffic violations for him to have gotten there so quickly.

Not caring about any of that, Mickey wrenched the passenger side door open, and collapsed inside the car. He didn’t speak as they drove around the neighbourhood, which was fuckin’ stupid ‘cause the guy had hauled ass to get to him. Lewis didn’t push, though, knowing that there was no better way to get Mickey to clam up.

They pulled up outside some shitty diner, and still neither of them had said a word. The silence stretched as they seated themselves at one of the sticky tables inside. Lewis ordered something from the waitress, but Mickey had no clue what.

It was only once the she’d returned with their order—coffee, as it turned out—that Lewis focused his full attention on Mickey.

Mickey searched for the words, for a way to explain why he was on the verge of caving today when he’d been fine last night.

“I’m gay,” he blurted out.

Lewis stared at him, waiting for him to continue. When it became clear that Mickey was waiting for his response, Lewis spoke.

“Did you figure this out last night? Is that why you’re upset?”

“No,” Mickey sighed. He hesitated for a moment. Christ, he hated doin’ this whole _honesty_ thing. “I ran into this guy. When we were kids, we were...” Here he trailed off. He wasn’t sure how to define their relationship back then.

“Were you involved?” Lewis asked carefully.

“Yeah. Although we weren’t fuckin’ s’posed to be. It was meant to be a fuck-buddy situation, y’know?”

Lewis nodded, although Mickey doubted that the older man understood. He’d been married to his wife for going on thirty-five years.

“Did you reconnect?” Lewis prompted.

Mickey let out a derisive snort. “No. Found the dumbass passed out in a parkin’ lot. He’s a fuckin’ mess.” He didn’t mention that he was pretty sure Ian was the straggler Lewis had dragged to the meeting last night.

“And that’s what has you so worked up?” Lewis asked patiently.

“No! Well... yeah, I guess. It’s just... that fuckin’ sucks as it is, right? But he wants to bail again, like the first fuckin’ time wasn’t bad enough. He’s gone, for, like, seven goddamn years, and then he suddenly shows up outta nowhere. He’s not dead, somethin’ I’ve had fuckin’ nightmares about! But he’s here, and now he wants to leave again...”

Mickey trailed off, realising that he was rambling. He could feel a flush crawling across his cheeks. Steeling himself, he took a hesitant look at his sponsor. Lewis didn’t look judgemental or disgusted; instead his expression was thoughtful.

“You say he’s in a bad way. What’s eatin’ him?” Lewis asked.

“Fuckin’ asshole’s been shootin’ up,” Mickey growled. He still couldn’t reconcile the idea of that smart, shiny kid Ian used to be with the junkie who’d been shivering and shaking in the car last night.

Lewis leaned forward, and his expression was suddenly serious.

“Mickey, I can tell you still care about this kid. But you need to think about your own recovery. You got a child to think about, and you’re finally makin’ amends with your sister. It’s important that you not... let this derail you.”

The older man spoke earnestly, and Mickey knew that he had reason to be concerned. Ian hadn’t even been back a day, and here he was, ready to reach for the bottle.

“I was a dick to him before he left,” Mickey admitted quietly. “And seein’ him like that... It’s just...” Again, words failed him. How could he explain the ripping sensation in his chest every time he looked into Gallagher’s pale, gaunt face? Knowing that Ian was like that because of him, it fuckin’ killed him.

“I wanna help him,” Mickey said softly.

Lewis nodded his head in understanding. “I know you’ll do what you think is best, but you gotta know when to pull back, you hear? You gotta think about you first on this one.”

It was a relief, having spoken to Lewis. They didn’t linger after their talk. The older man gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before asking him if he wanted a ride back to his apartment. Mickey’d declined the offer, wanting some time to clear his head.

He wondered around for about an hour before making his way back to his apartment. Mickey had come to a decision: If Gallagher was still there, he’d do what he could to help the other man. If not, Mickey was gonna cut his losses and move on. Whether he’d stick to that or not was another story.

Standing outside the apartment door, Mickey felt a twinge of nerves. Forcing them down, he let himself in and took a quick look around the living room and kitchen. No sign of the other man. Ignoring the pang of disappointment, he headed down the hallway to check his bedroom. Nothing. The bed was still rumpled, and somehow that made Ian not being here worse. Almost like Mickey’d just missed him.

Desperately needing some sort of distraction, Mickey decided to watch some tv. One of those mind numbing reality shows would be good right now. He took a cursory look in the bathroom, and did a double take.

Hunched over the toilet was a familiar redheaded figure. Concern and relief warred inside Mickey as he hurried over to Ian.

“Shit, Gallagher, what the fuck happened?” he demanded.

“Really wanted those eggs,” Ian mumbled. “Wasn’t such a great idea.”

_Fuck._ Not knowing what else to do, Mickey rubbed Gallagher’s back soothingly.

“Glad you aimed for the toilet,” he muttered, trying to make light of the situation.

Ian gave a hoarse little laugh that quickly turned into more pained heaving. Mickey winced in sympathy. Leaving Ian for a minute, Mickey went to fetch the other man some water. The redhead took the glass from Mickey gratefully, taking a careful sip before spitting it out again after a few seconds. He gave an agonised groan.

“You done?” Mickey asked, putting the glass in the sink once Gallagher had drained it.

“Think so,” Ian rasped. He pushed away from the toilet weakly, and moved to stretch out on the bathroom floor.

“Gallagher, the fuck are you doin’?” Mickey demanded, alarmed.

“Cold. Feels nice,” Ian murmured, closing his eyes tiredly.

“C’mon, man, you can’t sleep on the goddamn floor.” Mickey reached out to take hold of Ian’s hands to pull him into a sitting position. “Let’s get you to bed.”

The other man moved stiffly, and Mickey could see why the floor must’ve felt good. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and, despite the shower the night before, he smelled kinda ripe.

“You wanna shower?” Mickey asked without thinking. Ian didn’t answer immediately, and Mickey craned his neck to get a look at the other man; a flush was rising up on Ian’s pale cheeks.

Scrambling to recover, Mickey added, “A cold one, since you seemed to like the floor so much.” Seeing the look Gallagher sent his way, Mickey decided that maybe he should just shut the fuck up.

They got to the bedroom, and Mickey had Ian lean against the wall for a minute while he pulled the covers back. The redhead then collapsed onto the bed, lying on his stomach, and made a little sound of pleasure. The sound caused Mickey to smile slightly; it felt good to know that the other man was taking some comfort from his surroundings.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mickey cleared his throat. While he’d just resolved to stop talking, since he couldn’t seem to do it without making an ass of himself, this needed to be said.

“I just...” He cleared his throat again. “I want you to know that you can stay here, if you want. At least until you’re, y’know, back on your feet an’ shit.”

Ian slowly rolled over to look at him. He searched Mickey’s expression, as though trying to decide if Mickey meant what he was saying.

“You got your own shit to deal with, Mick. Don’t wanna add to it,” he said.

“Gallagher, look, I know I was a dick before, but—”

“I’ll go to one of the shelters,” Ian interrupted him, attempting a nonchalant shrug.

Mickey stared at him incredulously. The was no way in hell he was gonna let Gallagher stay in one of those shit holes.

“You either stay with me, or I’m gonna call your fuckin’ family an’ tell him where you are,” Mickey threatened.

Ian glared at him, and began struggling to get off the bed. “Fuck you,” he snapped.

Shit. Running his hands through his hair, Mickey tried to think of some way to do this without pissin’ the other man off. He was doin’ a really stellar job of makin’ Gallagher wanna stay, he thought irritably.

“Gallagher, wait,” he sighed once Ian had clambered off the bed. The other man ignored him, wobbling on unsteady legs to retrieve his shoes that had been placed at the foot of the bed. Gallagher began to pull them on determinedly, almost toppling over as he tried to tie the shoelaces.

“You need someone who fuckin’ _cares_ to get you through this,” Mickey blurted out. He set his jaw, refusing to glance in the redhead’s direction. While he couldn’t see Ian’s expression, he could hear that the other man had halted his attempts at putting on his shoes. Forcing himself to spit the words out, Mickey continued, “Those assholes at the shelter got so many fuckin’ people over there, they won’t give a shit if you get better or not.”

He felt the bed beside him dip as Ian sat down. Feeling the other man’s scrutinising gaze focused on him, Mickey met Ian’s eyes determinedly.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want help from, but I can’t let you go not knowin’ if you’re gonna be okay.”

This level of honesty left him shaken; if Lewis could see him now, his sponsor’d probably be doin’ a fuckin’ victory dance. Unable to handle the intent way Gallagher kept looking at him, Mickey left the room. He paced the length of his living room, waiting for Ian to tell him to go fuck himself, and insist that he mind his own goddamn business.

Gallagher came down the hallway a few minutes later, and the first thing Mickey noticed was that the other man was barefoot. The relief was crushing. So much so that he only tuned into what Ian was saying midway through his sentence.

“... pay you back when I can,” the other man said.

“Huh?” Mickey returned, sounding like an asshole.

Gallagher rolled his eyes. “I need some stuff. I’ll make a list, and I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“You stayin’?” Mickey asked, just to be sure.

Ian nodded.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian could see the relief in Mickey’s eyes, although the other man tried to hide it. He’d always been good at putting up that front, the one that said he didn’t give a shit. Ian didn’t know what had changed—maybe Mickey was too tired to try so hard, or maybe distance had made it easier for Ian to see through Mickey’s bullshit—but Ian could tell that his decision to stay had put the dark haired man more at ease.

He watched as Mickey rummaged around in the kitchen drawer, in search of paper and a pen. There was rattling, and a growing pile of junk was gathering on the table. A few stray batteries, change, an empty packet of cigarettes. Ian found himself fighting back a smile. Mickey had always had a tendency to hoard. Still, despite this, all the other man was able to come up with was a crumpled takeout receipt, and a pen whose end had been chewed to pieces.

Ian decided to settle on some basics. A toothbrush, a couple pairs of sweats, a t-shirt or two, jeans. The rest he’d bum off Mickey for a while. It was also decided that Mickey needed to restock his fridge. The other man usually resorted to takeout, mac and cheese, or pizza bagels. But, as Ian had proven both last night and earlier today, that wouldn’t stay down for longer than a few minutes.

They weren’t busy for long, but already Ian had begun to shiver. He saw that Mickey had noticed, and was frowning. He gave a casual shrug.

“It’s the withdrawal,” he explained, fighting back another shudder.

“Maybe you should try gettin’ some more sleep,” Mickey suggested.

Ian felt a flare of irritation at having to take a nap like a fuckin’ toddler, but he didn’t argue. He knew Mickey meant well, that the other man was putting himself out in a big way. Moving towards the couch, he began to settle himself on it when he looked up to find Mickey scowling at him.

“What?” he asked.

“You can take the bed,” Mickey replied.

Ian immediately began to shake his head. “Not a chance are you gonna be sleepin’ on the couch in your own fuckin’ apartment,” he said adamantly.

“C’mon, Gallagher, don’t be stupid,” Mickey argued. “It’s closer to the bathroom, and that way I won’t wake you when I go to work.” Seeing the mutinous expression on Ian’s face, Mickey added, “We’ll renegotiate once you’re doin’ better, okay?”

Ian glowered at the other man, but conceded with a nod. He shuffled out of the living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He’d never admit it, but he was kinda relieved that Mickey had pushed the issue. While sleeping on the couch was a hell of a lot better than what he’d been used to for the last couple months, the bed was heaven.

He was just beginning to drift off when he heard Mickey’s voice from the living room. 

“Hey, Greg, it’s Mickey.”

A pause.

“Yeah, I know what day of the week it is, asshole,” Mickey said with a laugh. “Listen, I need some time off. Family emergency.”

Ian’s breath caught at that last bit. He figured it was probably the best way to explain the situation without having to contend with a thousand questions, but it made something inside his chest tighten at being described as Mickey’s family.

“Just a couple days. Thanks, man.”

There was silence in the apartment for a few minutes. Ian was still thinking about what Mickey’d said, when the other man’s voice came from inside the room. Lost in his own thoughts, the sound startled Ian.

“I’m gonna go pick up the shit you need. You gonna be okay alone?”

“You didn’t have to take time off work,” Ian told him instead of answering the question.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “I’ve got time owed to me,” he said impatiently. “I just wanna know if you’re still gonna be alive when I get back.”

“I’m already costin’ you money, Mick. You don’t need to stay home to take care of me, too,” Ian pressed.

He could tell that Mickey was getting uncomfortable with where the conversation was going, so he wasn’t expecting the other man to actually respond.

“Look, man, I dunno about heroine, but I’ve done the withdrawal thing before. Sucks to have to deal with shit on your own. It’s no big deal to help you out for a couple days.” Mickey wouldn’t meet Ian’s gaze as he got back to the reason he’d come into the bedroom. “Now are you gonna be okay, or d’you need me to get you a sitter, or somethin’?”

Ian told the other man that he’d be fine, and listened as Mickey shut the apartment door behind him.

_Huh. Would the wonders never cease?_ Ian thought. **  
**


	5. We're Not Broken, Just Bent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got results back from university, and I'm in a really good mood, so I thought I'd post an update. It's not a very long one, but I hope you guys enjoy!

Mickey came back to his apartment to find the place quiet. He dumped the stuff he’d bought on the kitchen table, and headed to the living room to drop down onto the couch. He hadn’t been gone long, so he figured he could catch some Z’s before Gallagher woke up. Knowing the redhead was in his apartment, and feeling the need to check on the guy, hadn’t been conducive for sleep the night before. But now that he knew that Gallagher was sorta okay, the exhaustion that he’d managed to beat back was taking over with a vengeance.

He had just closed his eyes in the hopes that sleep would pull him under quickly, when his phone rang.

Mickey couldn’t help it. He groaned.

Answering the call without checking to see who it was, Mickey barked out an irritable, “What?”

“Nice to hear from you, too, assface,” a familiar voice replied.

“Shit, Mandy, sorry. What’s up?” He couldn’t keep the tiredness from his voice.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just been a long night,” Mickey answered.

“Have you been drinkin’?” The concern in Mandy’s voice had vanished, quickly replaced by fury. “I swear to God, Mick—”

“No! Jesus Christ! I’m sober, I told you that,” Mickey snapped. It hurt to hear how quickly Mandy had jumped to the conclusion that he’d fallen off the wagon. He knew that he hadn’t given her much reason to have faith in his ability to stay sober, but he’d hoped that he’d maybe earned some trust.

There was a silence on the other end of the line. When Mandy spoke again, the accusation was gone from her tone.

“So, I spoke to Svetlana,” she told him.

“’Bout what?” Mickey asked, his mind still on his sister’s outburst.

“About your fuckin’ son, asshole!” Mandy yelled.

Mickey flinched. He wondered if he should maybe just hang up; he would’ve if they’d been talking about anything else.

“What about him?” he asked. “Just fuckin’ tell me,” he growled when Mandy didn’t immediately reply. Mickey knew that his sister had promised to talk to Lana about him getting to see Yev, but he’d thought that was still a long way off.

“She said that you can see him on Saturday,” Mandy said grudgingly. “At the park, just for an hour.”

Mickey felt elation flooding through him. He hadn’t seen Yev since the kid had been about three. The reality that he was going to be allowed to spend time with his son had floored him.

“Th-that’s great,” he stammered. “What time do I need to be there?”

“She said that they’d be there at about ten, or so,” Mandy replied.

“I’ll be there,” he promised. “Mandy... thanks.” The word was hard to get out, but he wanted his sister to know that he appreciated what she’d done.

“Whatever. Just be there, and don’t be late.”

With that, Mandy hung up.

Mickey stayed where he was for a minute. He couldn’t believe it. Svetlana was gonna let him see Yev.

For a long while, Mickey’s feelings towards the kid had been... unhealthy. He wasn’t stupid; he knew it wasn’t Yev’s fault that the circumstances of his conception were less than ideal, and the kid couldn’t help the fact that Mickey and Svetlana could barely stand each other.

For most of the time that Lana and Yev had been living with him, Mickey had barely been able to look at the kid, let alone take care of him. The booze hadn’t helped; and when Lana had eventually had enough of his shit, she’d taken their son and left. Mickey’d been too drunk to care. For a long time afterwards, he’d barely spared either of them a second thought.

But once he’d started working on the whole sobriety thing, Mickey’d had time to think things through. It was usually on a Saturday night—nights where, in the past, he’d be so drunk that he couldn’t see straight—that thoughts of his family, of Ian, of his kid, would chase around his head.

Aside from Ian, Mickey had thought about Yev the most. He’d had time to work through things. Of all the fights him and Svetlana had had, the one that’d stuck with him was the night she’d told him that she wanted their son not to be a piece of shit like him. Mickey’d been a dick, sneering at her. But now he was beginning to understand where she’d been coming from. There was no way Mickey would ever be able to provide for his kid financially, not enough to make sure Yev never had to learn to shoplift so there’d be food on the table. He knew he’d probably never be the kind of dad that Yev would be proud of. But more than anything, Mickey wanted to make sure that Yev never came to hate him the way he’d hated Terry.

Yeah, he’d probably never get over how things had gone down between him and Svetlana. The kid would most likely always remind him of what was the worst night of his life. Still, Mickey wanted to be a part of Yev’s life in whatever way he could.

All thoughts of sleep had abandoned him. Getting up off the couch, Mickey headed over to the stuff he’d bought for Ian and started to unpack. He’d gotten everything on the list, and bought some real food too. Hell, Mickey had even thrown in some fruit. Vitamin C was supposed to be good for you, right? And fuck knew, Gallagher needed all the help he could get.

He dropped the clothes on the couch, and began shoving some of the food in the fridge, and the rest in the cupboards. A sound came from behind him, causing him to look up quickly. Ian was standing on the other side of the kitchen table, watching him unpack. The other man’s hair was sticking up in places, and he had pillow creases on his face. It made him look younger somehow.

Mickey looked away quickly before he could smile.

“You get enough sleep?” he asked, trying to fit a couple boxes of cereal in with all the other crap in the cupboards.

“What’d you do, rob a grocery store?” Ian’s voice was still rough with sleep. The other man appeared bemused at the sight of all the food.

“Nah, man. Paid for most of it,” Mickey answered with a smirk. “You should sit down before you land on your ass,” he added, noting the way Gallagher was swaying slightly.

The other man didn’t argue. He dropped down onto the couch next to the clothes Mickey’d bought. The redhead gave the things a cursory glance.

While Ian was in the living room, Mickey hurried into the bedroom, and began stripping the sheets from the bed. Dumping them in the corner of the room—he’d take ‘em to the laundromat tomorrow—he pulled out some fresh ones from the bottom of the closet. It didn’t take long to remake the bed, and in the time he’d been gone, Gallagher hadn’t moved. The redhead was just staring blankly ahead of him, apparently lost in thought.

“So, uh, I just talked to Mandy,” Mickey said abruptly. He watched as Ian’s head snapped up. Knowing that he had the other man’s attention, Mickey fought to keep his tone casual. “I was thinkin’, maybe I should tell her you’re here.”

“No,” Gallagher answered without hesitation.

Mickey’d figured that was gonna be Ian’s first response. Still, he was gonna push it. His sister had been the only one who’d known what was goin’ on with Gallagher, and she’d blamed herself after he’d gone missing. Mandy hadn’t been the same after Ian left.

“She’d wanna see you, man. C’mon, don’t you think you owe her at least that fuckin’ much? She kept your secret, wouldn’t even tell your goddamn family where you were.”

Mickey remembered the frustration he’d felt when the only answer she’d give him was that she’d promised Ian she wouldn’t tell anyone where he was. Mandy hadn’t even told Lip, and fuck knew she’d have done anything for that asshole.

Gallagher was determinedly avoiding looking at him now. Knowing he should just leave it alone, let the redhead think about it for a little while, Mickey found himself using a word he didn’t think had ever said before.

“Please.”

Ian jerked in surprise, and Mickey saw the other man’s gaze dart in his direction. He couldn’t blame Gallagher for being taken aback. It wasn’t like Mickey went around asking nicely; it wasn’t the Milkovich way. But thinking of all the bullshit his sister had had to put up with, of the revolving door of guys who weren’t fit to breathe Mandy’s air, Mickey just wanted to see her happy.

“She’s gonna be mad at me,” Ian whispered after a moment.

“Never been a day where Mandy hasn’t been pissed off ‘bout somethin’,” he reminded the redhead. Seeing the other man’s lips quirk into a small smile, Mickey knew that Gallagher was gonna agree.

“Will you call her?” Ian finally asked.

“Do it know, if you want,” Mickey offered.

Gallagher paused, seeming to think about it.

“Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Mickey said with a casual shrug. “Plus, it’d probably be a good idea for someone else to know you’re here,” he added. “Y’know, in case of emergency, or some shit.”

Grabbing hold of the tv remote, Mickey dropped down next to the other man on the couch. He was just flipping through the channels when he noticed that Ian was shivering again. Mickey frowned. That was gettin’ real old. Quickly getting up, Mickey headed back to the bedroom, coming back with the comforter folded over one arm.

He held the thing out to Ian, who took it with a mumbled “Thank you”. The redhead tried to drape the material around his shoulders as Mickey watched from the corner of his eye. It was clearly a struggle, Ian’s muscles weak. Not being able to deal with watching him try, and fail, to wrap himself up, Mickey stood up again.

“Give it here,” he said gruffly.

“I’m fine,” Gallagher tried to insist.

“Quit bein’ an asshole, man. Lemme help you.”

Snatching the blanket out of Ian’s hands, Mickey carefully wrapped the thing around the other man’s shoulders. He tried to make his movements brisk and businesslike, but it just felt so good to touch Ian when he was conscious and not puking. Once the comforter had been arranged to his satisfaction, Mickey parked himself back on his seat, flipping through the channels like nothing happened. He settled on something to watch, and felt Ian shifting on the couch to stare at him.

“ _Keeping Up with the Kardashians_? Really?” Ian asked disbelievingly.

“What? Kim and Kanye are havin’ another baby,” Mickey said defensively. The sound of Gallagher’s weak laughter made watching the bullshit drama on the screen worth it.


	6. I'm Not a Stranger

Mickey made the call to his sister just after ten the next morning. He knew Mandy was gonna bitch at him as soon as she picked up. She had Mondays off, and usually slept ‘til well past noon. Still, he chanced it. Mickey didn’t want to give Ian the chance to change his mind about seeing her. The redhead sat on the couch, once again enclosed in the comforter, his full attention focused on Mickey.

“For Christ’s sake, do you know what the fuckin’ time is?” Mandy barked into the phone as soon as she picked up.

“I wouldn’t be callin’ you at this time of the mornin’ if it wasn’t important,” he told her.

“Is someone dead?” she demanded. “’Cause that’s the only goddamn reason it’d be okay for you to be on my phone right now.”

“No, but—”

“Then I’m hangin’ up,” Mandy snapped.

“Could you calm down for just a fuckin’ minute?” Mickey complained. “I need you to come over.”

His sister was silent for a second before she spluttered, “If you think that I’m gonna drag my ass over to your place right now, you are out of your goddamn mind. Forget it.”

Sensing that he was a hairsbreadth away from hearing a very final click in his ear, Mickey blurted out that stupid fuckin’ word for the second time in as many days.

“Please? I just... I need you to come over.”

A deep sigh. Mickey could practically hear her eyes rolling.

“What for?” she asked tiredly.

“It’s, uh... not somethin’ you wanna hear about on the phone.”

“Jesus, Mick.” She sounded more alert now. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everythin’s fine. Just come over, alright?”

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Ian asked as soon as Mickey hung up.

“Don’t wanna freak her out before she gets here,” he answered with a sigh. Mickey knew that if he told his sister that Ian was here, she’d haul ass to get to him. And he’d rather have Mandy yell at him for not giving her the news immediately, than have her wreck her car in her hurry to see the redhead.

There was a pounding at his door about an hour after he’d hung up with Mandy. Eyebrows raised, Mickey headed over to open up for her. She had to have climbed out of bed immediately after their conversation to have gotten here so quickly.

As soon as the door was open, Mandy barged in.

“What the fuck was so goddamn important that you had to wake me up at the crack of dawn’s ass?” she demanded, glaring over her shoulder at her brother. She had her back to the living room as she dumped her purse on the kitchen counter.

“Hey, Mandy.” Ian’s voice came from behind her, and Mickey watched as his sister froze. He saw the irritation and concern she had tried so hard to hide drain away, replaced by disbelief. For what seemed like a long time, Mandy didn’t move.

She turned around slowly to face the other man. The whole tiny apartment was quiet. Mickey couldn’t see his sister’s face, but he saw the wash of emotion that coloured Ian’s expression. Guilt, happiness, relief.

One step forward, then another. Soon, Mandy’d crossed the room, and was hurling herself into Ian’s arms. They gripped each other tight for a moment, before Mandy began pummelling her fists against the other man’s chest.

“You... fuckin’... goddamn... asshole,” Mandy yelled, punctuating each word with a slam of her fists. She only stopped when Ian staggered backwards. Before he could stumble too far away from her, Mandy wrapped her arms around him again.

And for the first time since their mother died, Mickey watched his sister burst into tears.

Quickly skirting past them into the hallway, he headed into the bedroom to give the two friends some privacy.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian was barely aware of Mickey leaving the room. All he could feel was Mandy shaking in his arms. He hadn’t tried to stop her when she began pounding on his chest with her fists. Knowing he deserved it, probably more, he’d stood there, and taken it. And then Ian had felt Mandy’s arms sliding around him, and he’d been helpless to hold back the tears.

Ian didn’t know how long they stood there like that, holding onto each other as though afraid of what’d happen if they let go. Finally, Mandy loosened her grip, and pulled away from him a little. Her makeup was ruined, the mascara trailing down her cheeks with her tears.

“I missed you so much,” she choked out. Her hands were gripping his shirt, and Ian had taken hold of her forearms. The contact was comforting.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he whispered. Ian had no words for how sorry he was; could only imagine how worried she’d been when she’d stopped hearing from him.

“What happened?” she asked him, reaching up to wipe at her tears, smudging her makeup even more.

“I just... I needed to get away,” Ian answered lamely.

“Yeah, I know. That’s what you said when you left,” Mandy said sharply, stepping away from him at last. “But it doesn’t explain you fallin’ off the grid for the last _six fuckin’ years_.”

Ian turned away from Mandy, couldn’t face the hurt and accusation in her expression. He knew he’d fucked up in a big way with Mickey, with his family... but nowhere near as much as he’d fucked up with Mandy. She’d covered for him, probably had to deal with his siblings, and he’d stopped contacting her without warning.

“Everythin’ was just so... fucked up. I wanted to feel better, and... it all turned to shit.” Ian knew that that was probably the most inadequate explanation for everything that’d happened, but he didn’t know what to tell her. He half-expected Mandy to call him out on it, to demand that he give her more than that. Instead, he felt her step up behind him, and wrap her arms around his waist.

Having someone touch him, not because they wanted something from him, but simply offering comfort, was such a huge relief. Mickey had been doing that since Ian had arrived, but there was too much history between them for every touch not to hurt. But this hug was from Mandy, his best friend. He tried to commit the contact to memory.

A sudden shiver went through him, and then another. Mandy pulled away from him, turning him around to face her. She scowled as she felt the next tremor run through him.

“Ian, what’s goin’ on?” She searched his face, seeming to take his features in for the first time. Ian knew that in the rush of seeing each other again, Mandy hadn’t taken much of a look at him. She did now.

“Jesus, Ian, have you been usin’?” Mandy asked shakily.

He didn’t know what to tell her, because she knew the answer already. Ian could see it her eyes, see the disbelief and confusion.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” he said at last. “I’ll tell you about it... later, okay? I do-don’t know if I can handle it right now,” he added when he saw that Mandy wanted to argue with him.

She gave a reluctant nod. Reaching for his hand, Mandy dropped down on the couch, and pulled him down with her. There she rested her head on his shoulder, and pulled his arms around her.

Ian didn’t break the silence that had settled over them. In that moment, it felt like nothing had changed. It was him and his best friend comforting each other after a hard day.

Holding that thought close to him, Ian squeezed Mandy tighter.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey’d been camped out in his room for over an hour. He couldn’t hear anything from the other room, but he didn’t go to check what was going on. He figured Ian and Mandy needed their time, and he didn’t want to intrude.

Leaning back against the crappy headboard of his bed, he started on a new chapter of the book he was reading. He’d barely finished the first page when his sister walked into the room. Her shoulders were slumped, and her eyes were red. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Where’d you find him?” Mandy asked in a low voice.

“Church parkin’ lot,” he replied. “I was at my meetin’,” he added, seeing her questioning look.

She nodded slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Mickey could sense that she was searching for something to say, anything that didn’t involve the wreck that they both cared about so deeply.

“What’re you reading?” was what Mandy finally settled on. She reached out for the book still in his hands and lifted it a little to get a look at the cover. It depicted three little Arab kids playing amidst a group of ruined, dusty buildings. The look she sent him was sad, and full of understanding.

Not long after he and Ian had started screwing around, Mickey had found himself doing some casual reading about the army. He’d assured himself at the time that it wasn’t ‘cause he cared, or anything fucked up like that. It was just that if he was gonna be spending time with Gallagher—and he was ‘cause the sex was fuckin’ great—and since the redhead never shut up, Mickey at least wanted to know what the hell Gallagher was talking about.

Then, after Ian had left for the army, Mickey had started reading anything he could get his hands on about the military, about the countries that the US was occupying, anything that would give him some idea of what Gallagher would be facing. A lot of the shit he’d read had left him with a pit of dread settling in his stomach, just imagining the things Gallagher might be dealing with. Part of why the he’d turned to the booze was to help drown out those images.

Mickey shifted uncomfortably under his sister’s scrutiny. Mandy’d been pissed as hell at him for a long fuckin’ time after Gallagher had left. She’d blamed him for Ian leaving, had been furious that he hadn’t done anything to stop the redhead from walking away.

A gentle hand on his arm. Mickey started at the contact; the Milkoviches had never been the most demonstrative family, and when they were, it was usually with their fists. He looked up, meeting Mandy’s gaze.

“You okay?” she asked in concern.

Mickey’s first instinct was to give her the brush off, tell her everything was fine. Yeah, so his... what, ex... had showed up out of nowhere. No big.

“Not really,” he told her instead.

She nodded, keeping her hand where it was for a second, before getting off the bed. She wiped at her eyes roughly, messing her makeup even more. Seeing the mascara and eyeliner smudged around her eyes reminded him of when they were kids, Mandy having to learn how to put the stuff on without their mom being around to help.

“Look, I’m gonna bail. He’s asleep, and I um... I need to think a couple things through,” she said with a deep sigh. “Can I come over tomorrow?”

Mickey knew that nothing short of death would keep her away, but he nodded anyway. She had just turned away from him before he remembered something.

“Hey, don’t tell Gallagher’s family that he’s back, okay? If you still talk to ‘em, or whatever, don’t say anything.”

Mandy looked over at him with a scowl.

“Why the fuck not?” she demanded.

“I dunno. He said somethin’ about not wantin’ ‘em to see him like this. Whatever, just don’t, alright?”

Mickey could tell that his sister wasn’t happy about keeping yet another secret about Ian’s whereabouts. Despite this, she muttered an irritable “Whatever,” before leaving.

After shutting the door behind his sister, Mickey leaned his forehead against the cool wood. He was having some trouble adjusting; just over forty-eight hours ago, he’d thought he’d never see Ian again, and even a five minute phone call with his sister had been a huge victory. Now, Ian was asleep on his couch, and he and Mandy had had an honest conversation in his apartment.

Un-fuckin’-real.

Slowly walking over to the sleeping redhead, Mickey reached out, and gently touched Ian’s face. He did it as softly as possible, not wanting the other man to wake up, but needing some sort of contact.

Mickey let himself linger for just a few seconds, trying to absorb the feel of Ian’s skin, to reassure himself that the other man was safe, here, with him. Not having anything better to do, Mickey headed back to his room, grabbed his book, and sat down in front of the couch by Gallagher’s feet.

And that’s how he spent the rest of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter made me both really happy, and really sad, all at once.


	7. I'll Wear My Shame on My Sleeve

The first few days of having Ian in his apartment weren’t too bad. The other man had obviously not been doing a lot of sleeping wherever he’d been, and seemed intent on making up for lost time. So the Tuesday and Wednesday that Mickey’d taken off were uneventful; mostly, he watched tv, tried to keep Gallagher fed, and held the other man’s head up when those attempts backfired.

Mickey had also reverted to a personality trait that’d served him well during his youthful offender phase to get Ian to eat. He’d bullied Ian in to eating healthy shit while the redhead was too weak to argue. Mickey knew that it wasn’t gonna last, but he’d take what he could get while he could get it.

As the week progressed, Gallagher seemed to get a little stronger. And that was when things got hard. The other man was restless and irritable, often snapping at Mickey.

“Listen, I’m gonna be late tomorrow night, okay? I gotta pick somethin’ up,” Mickey told Ian Thursday evening.

“Sure you can leave me alone that long?” the other man asked sarcastically.

“I just wanted to tell you what’s goin’ on—” Mickey said, bristling.

“You don’t have to,” Ian cut him off. “We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend here, right? Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Mickey fought back the flare of anger. He tried to remember what it’d been like in the initial stages of withdrawal, how he’d hated fuckin’ everyone. The cravings were a bitch, and Gallagher had to be feelin’ the effects a thousand times worse.

Refusing to rise to the bait, Mickey continued, “An’ I might not be here when you wake up on Saturday. Gotta go see my kid.”

Ian let out a derogatory snort. “What, you think one visit is gonna make up for you basically neglectin’ him his whole life? For bein’ more interested in the booze than in him?”

“Why you bein’ such a dick, huh?” Mickey asked, losing his grip on his irritation.

“What? That somethin’ you got dibs on?” Ian shot back.

“Fuck you, Gallagher,” Mickey snapped. He stalked out of the apartment, and into the hallway. The layout of the apartment building meant that they had a sort of hallway/balcony thing going on. Instead of having a wall or neighbours across from them, there was a railing looking down at the parking lot.

Lighting up a cigarette, Mickey silently fumed. He hated that Ian was throwing that in his face. The night before, the other man had asked Mickey what’d happened with Svetlana and the baby. Mickey had told Ian that Lana had given birth to a son, who she’d named Yevgeny, after her father. He’d also told the redhead that he hadn’t seen the kid in years.

His tone had made it clear that he didn’t wanna talk about it, and Ian had dropped the subject. Hell, Mickey wasn’t completely sure why he’d even fuckin’ answered the redhead’s questions. Not like he enjoyed owning up to the fact that he was as a big a fuck up in the parenting department as his own father. It was just... Gallagher was in a vulnerable position. Mickey had seen him strung out, pukin’ his guts up, and there wasn’t a damn thing the other man could do about it. So Mickey had told Ian about the situation with Yev and Lana, opening up in a way he never would’ve dreamed of doing with the redhead before. Making himself vulnerable too.

Running his hands through his hair, exhaling a plume of smoke, Mickey resolved that he wouldn’t be makin’ that fuckin’ mistake again.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian released a heavy sigh, and mentally cussed himself out. He didn’t know what’d made him say that to Mickey. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. The hurt and anger mention of the kid had brought up inside him was surprising, especially after all this time. Memories of that shit show wedding, and Mickey just letting him walk away had risen quickly to the surface, made him so fucking angry. The idea that Mickey’d let what they had fall apart for a sham marriage, and a kid he’d basically neglected had made Ian want to lash out.

Heading over to the couch, Ian collapsed down onto the thing. After the first day or two of being here, he’d started having trouble sleeping. His body had long since stopped belonging to him; only, in the past, he’d been too wasted to notice. Now, it was painfully clear that he’d fucked himself up. Making his way across Mickey’s apartment left him breathless; his body ached; food did nothing for him, and when he did eat, most of it made a reappearance not long after.

Staring up at the ceiling morosely, Ian wished that Mickey would come back inside to distract him. He knew he’d been a dick—Mickey was right about that—but having the other man with him was... Ian didn’t know how to explain it. The changes that had taken place in the dark haired man were fascinating, and yet heartbreaking, to watch. That brash swagger, the defensiveness that used to coat Mickey like a second skin when he was a teenager, was gone.

Yeah, Mickey could still cuss up a storm; his issues with intimacy of the non-physical variety were still glaringly obvious; but Ian had never known him to walk away from a fight before. And yet, that was exactly what the other man had done just now. Ian had deliberately provoked him, as though making Mickey angry would somehow siphon his own frustration into someone else.

Even if it was the person taking care of him.

Remorse abruptly replaced his agitation. Ian was just about to drag himself outside to apologise to Mickey when the apartment door slammed open. The other man’s cheeks were red from the cold outside, and his shoulders were hunched up. Without sparing a glance at Ian, Mickey headed to down the hall. A moment later, he reappeared, pulling on a heavy jacket.

“Where you goin’?” Ian asked hesitantly.

Mickey threw a disbelieving look over his shoulder, and Ian flinched. Yeah, he couldn’t believe he’d asked that either, given the argument they’d just had. Mickey was nearly out the door again when Ian spoke.

“I was an asshole,” he called out uncomfortably.

“Yeah, you were,” Mickey agreed, turning around to glare at him.

Ian sighed heavily, before muttering, “I’m sorry.”

Mickey still looked annoyed, and Ian thought that his apology would just be shrugged off. Judging by the look on the other man’s face, that was exactly what he wanted to do. Instead, he leaned against the door, and gave a jerky little shrug.

“Goin’ to the Kash and Grab. Runnin’ low on smokes.”

“Can I come with?” Ian asked.

Again, he found himself on the receiving end of an incredulous stare. Seeing that he was serious, Mickey just shook his head.

“I was gonna walk,” Mickey grumbled.

“Oh,” Ian said, disappointed.

Mickey stared at him for a minute before cursing.

“Fine, we’ll take the goddamn car. But you fuckin’ bundle up, you hear me? It’s cold outside. Don’t need to be dealin’ with pneumonia on top of everythin’ else,” he told Ian irritably.

“It’s not cold that makes you sick,” Ian began to point out when Mickey interrupted him.

“Gloves. Scarf. Hat. Coat,” the other man bit out slowly. “Or it ain’t fuckin’ happenin’.”

Letting out an exasperated little huff, Ian shuffled down the hallway to the bedroom he’d taken over. He looked around for a second, realising he didn’t have any of the things Mickey was insisting on, and had no idea where to find them.

“Uh... Mick?” He could hear the uncertainty is his own voice.

“What?” Mickey barked from the other room.

“You think you can lend me any of that stuff?”

Mickey’s sigh could be heard from across the apartment, and probably in the neighbouring ones as well. He stalked into the bedroom, and began riffling through his closet. Within a few minutes, Ian was wearing the stipulated items, and was following Mickey out the door. The other man had been right: it was cold.

“You gonna be okay with the stairs?” Mickey asked. Despite his earlier annoyance, there was concern in his tone now.

“D’you, uh, mind helpin’ me?”

Nodding wordlessly, Mickey wrapped an arm around Ian’s waist. Trying to ignore the other man’s closeness, his familiar scent, Ian slowly made his way down the steps. It was gonna be a bitch going back up, and Mickey undoubtedly knew that, but he didn’t comment.

The drive to the Kash and Grab only took a few minutes. Ian felt kinda bad that Mickey was wasting gas for such a short trip, but he needed to get out of that apartment; if he didn’t he was gonna go stir-crazy.

Stepping out of the car across the road from the store where he used to work, Ian couldn’t help but stare. For a minute, he was lost in the memories associated with the place.

“C’mon, man,” Mickey said, jerking Ian from his thoughts.

They headed across the street, Mickey with a tight grip on Ian’s arm, and entered the store. Everything looked the same; the only change was the figure standing behind the counter.

The guy at the register had longish hair that was in desperate need of a wash. He didn’t even look up when Mickey and Ian walked in, his gaze fixed on a spot on the wall. Ian looked at the man beside him questioningly, but Mickey just rolled his eyes.

Mickey headed to the back of the store towards the fridges, while Ian took a closer look at his surroundings. He’d been wrong before; things had changed. The once spotless floor was dusty, and the cans and boxes were stacked haphazardly. _Jesus, how the hell did Linda deal with this?_ Ian wondered. As far as he could remember, his former boss had been a stickler about keeping the store in order.

The thought had no sooner crossed his mind than the woman in question appeared. She still wore her hijab, and a familiar scowl. Linda didn’t even look at him as she bore down on the guy behind the counter.

“Jason, what the hell are you doing?” she barked at him. “Is this what I’m paying you to do? To ignore my customers and eat food you haven’t paid for?”

The man gave her a blank stare. Ian watched as Linda struggled to get a hold of her temper. “Go restock the shelves,” she said with forced calm.

“But, uh, I, uh, already did,” he muttered.

“Just do something that doesn’t involve you standing in front of me!” Linda exploded.

Ian watched as Jason scrambled off, looking cowed. He felt a reluctant grin creeping across his face—weird that he found himself missing Linda’s angry outbursts.

Mickey was coming up the aisle carrying a tin of Pringles and a bottle of OJ. He dumped the stuff on the counter, and waited expectantly for Linda to start ringing it all up. Ian turned around, wondering what the holdup was, to find his former employer staring at him intently. He tried not to shift under the weight of that look.

“You look like hell,” she told him bluntly.

Ian floundered, not knowing what to say. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Mickey’s voice broke in, and it was easy to hear the other man’s irritation.

“You gonna ring this shit up, or not?” he asked brusquely. Linda turned to glare at him, but Mickey didn’t flinch. Instead, he raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the stuff on the counter. “And a pack of Marlboros, too,” he added.

Linda didn’t speak again. She rang them up, putting the juice and Pringles in a plastic bag, and walked to the back of the store to check on Jason.

Ian felt numb as he waited for Mickey to shove the cigarettes in his pocket and gather up his purchases. Again, the other man gripped his arm as they crossed the road, and held the car door open for him. Ian was silent on the short drive back to Mickey’s apartment, his mind churning over Linda’s words.

He didn’t know why her comment had upset him; Mickey had a mirror, Ian had seen what he looked like. It was just... to hear it from a relative outsider; it made his situation more real to him.

They pulled up in front of the apartment building, but Ian made no move to get out of the car. Mickey jerked the door open, and Ian saw that the other man was scowling at him.

“I ain’t gonna do this all the time, princess,” he complained. “You’re strong enough to open your own fuckin’ door.”

Ian got out of the car, and followed behind the dark haired man slowly. He found Mickey waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs; Mickey’s arm was extended, and he wrapped it around Ian’s waist. It should’ve been easier this time, with Ian feeling a little stronger, but he was distracted. He wasn’t paying attention to the stairs, stepping up too soon, or not soon enough. They were halfway up the second floor before Mickey lost his patience.

“Gallagher, what the fuck?” he snapped after Ian missed a step, nearly tripping them both up. “Pull your head outta your fuckin’ ass, and look where you’re goin’.”

Ian flinched away from the frustration he heard in the other man’s voice. Trying to concentrate now, he looked down at his feet, climbing the stairs carefully. He waited until they were inside Mickey’s apartment before he broached the subject.

“Is Linda right?” he asked softly.

“What?” Mickey gave him a blank look.

“Do I really look that bad?” Ian’s voice was a little louder this time.

He saw the answer in Mickey’s eyes before the other man rallied. “Nah, man. Look, bitch can go fuck herself—” he said fiercely.

“Mick,” Ian interrupted tiredly. He stared at man standing in front of him, willing him to be honest. While Ian appreciated the attempt to spare his feelings, something he didn’t think Mickey’d ever given a shit about before, he needed the truth.

Mickey seemed to deflate a little. He bit his bottom lip, let out a deep sigh. When he spoke, his words were matter-of-fact.

“You’ve lost a lotta weight,” he told Ian. “And you look... worn out, like you haven’t slept in a while.” Mickey looked Ian right in the eye as he continued, “But you’re gonna get better. You’re gonna eat, and you’re gonna sleep, and you’re gonna find a meeting. You’re gonna be okay.”

Mickey spoke with such conviction, like there was no doubt in his mind that what he said was true. The Mickey Ian remembered wasn’t that naive, had never believed that anything could be that simple, so he figured that the other man was just trying to convince himself too.

Still, Ian nodded his head.

It’d make them both feel better if he pretended that he didn’t know Mickey was lying.


	8. Sleep is Tedious, Only Tossing and Turning

Ian couldn’t sleep that night. It wasn’t exactly surprising; with the exception of the first two nights, Ian hadn’t slept much at all. Making it worse, though, was the sound of Mickey tossing and turning on the couch.

Ian knew that Mickey must’ve been insanely uncomfortable on that lumpy couch, but the other man hadn’t complained once. Still, Ian had seen how Mickey winced when he got off the couch, watched the way he stretched his back to work out the kinks. After a prolonged moment where Mickey seemed to bounce on every conceivable squeaky spot, Ian had finally had enough.

Throwing aside the covers, Ian climbed out the bed. He gave the mattress an assessing look. The thing was more than big enough for the two of them. It was stupid for Mickey to lose sleep every night trying to get comfortable on the couch when they could just share the bed.

Padding out of the room, Ian came into the living room to find that Mickey was lying with his back to the hallway. The blankets were twisted around him, and he continued to shift uncomfortably.

“Mick,” Ian spoke softly into the silence.

The other man started at the sound, twisting around to face Ian. Except, Mickey had misjudged how much room he had to manoeuvre, and crashed from the couch onto the floor.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he yelled loudly.

Shit. Ian fumbled for the hallway light for a second, and then hurried over to where the other man was now lying flat on his back.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning over Mickey’s prone form in concern.

“Yeah,” Mickey replied sourly. “More comfortable down here than on that piece of shit anyway.”

Ian stared down into the dark haired man’s disgruntled expression, biting back a laugh. He tried to keep his voice even when he next spoke.

“You, uh, had enough of the couch yet?”

“For a fuckin’ lifetime,” Mickey huffed, rubbing his eyes.

“Well, there’s no reason for you to sleep here,” Ian pointed out.

Mickey gave him a blank look. “Where else am I gonna sleep?”

_Seriously?_ Ian fought back his exasperation. “Mick, just come to bed,” he said, abruptly losing patience.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For a moment, Mickey was frozen in surprise. _Did he just...?_ He shook his head as though to clear it, and managed to get out a choked sounding “What?”

Ian gave an expressive roll of his eyes. “Come to bed. You can’t honestly tell me that you’ve actually gotten any sleep on that thing,” he said, gesturing to the lumpy couch.

“It ain’t that bad,” Mickey responded automatically. He sat up, curling in on himself defensively.

“You _just_ told me that you’re more comfortable on the floor,” Ian reminded him.

Huh. That was true. But that was before the redhead suggested that they share a fuckin’ bed. There was no way that that would be more comfortable than the couch.

See, even though he wanted to ignore it, it was impossible for him not to notice that Ian was in his apartment. He knew how fuckin’ stupid that sounded, ‘cause _duh._ But while Ian was hurling, or shivering, or dealing with any of the other symptoms of withdrawal, Mickey was able to focus on that. As the other man gradually regained his strength, though, the less he was someone Mickey needed to take care of. Ian, the boy Mickey had never been able to stay away from, was resurfacing. The boy who’d broken Mickey’s heart was still there, so close Mickey could touch him.

So, yeah. Sleepin’ next to the redhead? Not gonna happen.

“We can share the bed, Mick,” Ian said with exaggerated patience. It was clear from his expression that he didn’t get what the big deal was.

“Uh... no. No, I don’t think so,” Mickey stammered, sounding like an asshole even to his own ears.

Hurt flickered across the other man’s face before he could hide it. Ian gave a stiff shrug, releasing a quiet, “Whatever,” before he headed back down the hallway.

Mickey lay back down, screwing his eyes shut. When that didn’t block out Ian’s wounded expression, he tried banging his head on the floor a little. Nope. That didn’t help either.

There was no possible way he could share a bed with Ian. He knew that. But knowing that Ian was just trying to help, and was upset that Mickey’d rebuffed the gesture, wasn’t sitting well either. He lay there arguing with himself for a few minutes before giving up.

_Fuck_.

Clambering off the floor, Mickey moved resolutely towards the bedroom. He could make out the faint outline of Ian’s body. The other man was lying there with his arms behind his head; Mickey thought he could see Gallagher stiffen.

“Move up,” he muttered as he came around the other side of the bed. Ian did so without comment, and they lay there in uncomfortable silence for a while. Mickey didn’t know how the fuck he was gonna get any sleep with this awareness crawling over his skin. Ian shifted beside him, and Mickey’s body tensed involuntarily.

Ian noticed, and made an irritable sound.

“Y’know what? _I’ll_ sleep on the couch.” The redhead abruptly sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Gallagher, wait.” Mickey rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. “Ian, just hold up,” he said insistently as the other man ignored him.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ jump you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ian snapped, reaching for his pillow.

Quickly, Mickey sat up and grabbed the other end of the thing. Ian tugged on the pillow, but Mickey refused to let go.

“The last person I shared a bed with was Svetlana, and she threatened to stab me with a fuckin’ screwdriver in my sleep.” The words came out in a rush. He met Ian’s gaze for a second before looking away. “I just... just gimme a second, okay?”

Ian released his hold on the pillow, walking out of the room. Mickey geared up to go after him, to try explain better, but he stayed where he was when he heard water in the bathroom running.

To Mickey’s surprise, Ian returned to the room, and flopped down onto the bed.

Silence. Then...

“A screwdriver, huh?”

Mickey snorted, beginning to relax. “Another time it was a claw hammer.”

“Your wife’s kind of a badass,” Ian snickered.

Another long stretch of silence.

“She’s not my wife anymore,” Mickey said suddenly. He could sense Gallagher’s eyes on him in the dark, but he continued to stare at the ceiling. “She filed for divorce a couple years ago.” For some reason, it was important to him that Ian knew that.

“Okay,” Ian said slowly, clearly not knowing how to respond.

More silence and Mickey felt sleep tugging at him. After almost a week of restless sleep on the couch, and worrying about Ian, exhaustion slammed into him like a Mack truck.

Within a few minutes, Mickey was dead to the world.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of the alarm clock blaring woke Mickey the next morning. A pained groan escaped his throat. For the first time in a long while, Mickey didn’t wanna get out of bed, not because he didn’t wanna face the day, but because he was too damn comfortable to move. He opened one eye, glaring blearily at the piece of shit that’d woke him up. Wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, it took Mickey a moment to realise that he was pressed up against a warm body.

_Shit_.

Moving slowly and carefully, Mickey tried to back away from Ian without waking him. He winced at the feel of his morning wood, and the fact that he’d been pressing the thing against Gallagher’s ass.

“Morning,” came the other man’s quiet voice.

Mickey cringed with embarrassment. Fuck. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Uh... mornin’.” Mickey cleared his throat uncomfortably, scooting back until he was at the very edge of the bed. “Sorry about... y’know... _that_.”

Ian’s shoulders lifted in a shrug, but he didn’t turn around. Feeling a rush of heat burning across his face, Mickey hurried to the bathroom. He spent longer than he needed to in there, carefully brushing his teeth, and even taking the time to floss. He briefly considered jerking off before he angrily shut the thought down. It wouldn’t be right to do that with Gallagher lying in the other room. The guy was vulnerable and trusting Mickey to take care of him; Mickey thinking about tugging at his own dick because he’d been pressed up against the other man while he was like this was fucked up.

When Mickey finally felt that he could face the other man, he found that Ian was in the kitchen making coffee.

“Want some?” the redhead asked, looking over his shoulder at Mickey.

He gave a jerky nod, trying to think of something to say or do that didn’t involve him standing around like an asshole. Gallagher seemed to notice the fact that he was on edge. He paused in the middle of pouring the coffee, turning around to face Mickey fully.

“Would you relax?”

Mickey noticed that the redhead looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Mickey grumbled, skirting around the other man to pour his own damn coffee.

Ian stepped to the side, blocking him. “You’re embarrassed about earlier. Don’t be. I told you, it’s no big deal.”

“I was gropin’ you in your fuckin’ sleep, man,” Mickey burst out.

The smile that had been playing at the edges of Ian’s mouth broke free, and lit up his whole expression. For a second, all Mickey could do was blink at him. He hadn’t seen that smile in so long, and its sudden appearance was like finding himself staring into the sun.

“I can think of worse ways to wake up, Mick,” Ian told him before stepping out of his way.

Mickey stood there, frozen, for a moment. Reaching for his coffee, he desperately tried to unscramble his thoughts. Not knowing what else to do, he took a gulp of the stuff, burning his tongue in the process. Biting back a stream of curses, he desperately changed the subject.

“I’m, uh, gonna be late tonight,” he reminded Gallagher.

The redhead gave him an amused look, aware that his words had flustered Mickey. “I know. You told me that last night.”

“Right,” Mickey said sheepishly. He was about to make himself some cereal when another thought occurred to him. Turning on his heel, he hovered at the entrance to the living room, staring anxiously at Ian, who was sitting on the couch.

“An’ I got some books if you get bored with the shit on tv.”

Ian stared at him for a second. “You’ve been reading?” he asked wonderingly.

“Fuck off,” Mickey grumbled. He took a cursory glance at his watch, and realised that he was running late. Hurrying to his—their—bedroom, he hastily began pulling on his work clothes. A pair of beat up jeans, flannel shirt, scuffed boots. He was a walkin’ cliché.

Ian apparently thought so too. The other man gave him the once over, his expression unreadable. Mickey ducked his head self-consciously, trying to think of something to say.

“I’ll, uh, see you later,” he muttered. _Wow, could you be any more fuckin’ lame_ , Mickey mentally berated himself.

Ian didn’t seem to notice. “Uh-huh. Have a good day.”

Okay, Mickey really needed to get out of there right the hell now. Deliberately avoiding meeting Ian’s gaze, he left the apartment in a rush.

Unable to help himself, Mickey released a slow, relieved breath as he shut the door behind him.


	9. Found a Place to Rest my Head

It took a while for Ian’s amusement at Mickey’s reaction to their sleeping arrangements to fade. He hadn’t been lying to the other man when he’d said that there were worse ways to wake up. Remembering the barely concealed panic on Mickey’s face made him grin.

Ian had been desperately reaching for a sleep that wouldn’t come when he’d first felt those arms wrap around him. Freezing automatically, Ian had been waiting for greedy hands to start roaming over his body. He knew Mickey wasn’t like that, but it was something he’d come to expect when lying in bed with someone.

But instead of that, all Ian had felt was Mickey shifting closer to bury his face against Ian’s shoulder. The faint snore from behind him had let him know that Mickey was still asleep.

A feeling of warmth had stolen through Ian, allowing him to drift into a light doze. He’d woken up a few minutes before Mickey, had felt the other man’s erection pressing against him. Normally that would’ve inspired some sort of apprehension, and for one instinctive moment, it had.

Thinking back on it, Ian now felt frustration rather than fear. He wanted to thank Mickey somehow. Before the drugs had ravaged him, he would’ve been able to turn around, and take Mickey up on his body’s offer. Ian knew that years had separated them, that they were all but strangers now, but sex had never been a problem for them.

But Ian couldn’t do that anymore.

Restlessness wiping away his earlier good mood, Ian glanced around the apartment, looking for something to do. Ian didn’t think he’d be able to handle watching another episode of _Storage Wars_ or, God help him, _Judge Judy_.

His gaze was caught by the pile of haphazardly stacked dvds in front of the tv. He tried to look past them, but his agitated stare kept being drawn back to the boxes. Ian had never been a neat freak, so he couldn’t figure out why the messy pile of dvds were suddenly bugging the hell out of him. All he knew what that he couldn’t look at them like that and stay sane.

Getting off the couch to kneel in front of the tv, Ian began to stack the boxes into neat, organized rows. Once he was satisfied that some order had been established, he glanced up at the tv. Eyes narrowing at the sight of the light film of dust that covered the screen, Ian got up in search of a washcloth.

Aaaannd he was off.

Ian knew that his rearranging and cleaning might be deemed intrusive, but he needed to do something, _anything_ , to keep himself busy.

He spent a few hours in the living room, even taking the time to wash the windows overlooking the road outside. Ian was halfway through scrubbing the tiny kitchen floor when Mickey showed up for his lunch break.

Mickey’d been doing that since going back to work: it turned out that the site he was working on was close enough to the apartment that he could walk over to check that Ian was still okay.

While Ian knew that that would eventually begin to piss him off—he didn’t need a goddamn baby sitter—for now, he was happy for the company.

The dark haired man stopped dead in his tracks just inside the door. Ian looked up from where he was scraping at a particularly stubborn stain to meet Mickey’s bemused stare.

“The fuck you doin’?” Mickey asked, taking in the scrubbing brush and the bucket of soapy water with narrowed eyes.

That wasn’t exactly the response Ian had been hoping for.

“What’s it look like I’m doin’?” Ian replied, attempting to keep his tone breezy. “I swear to God, I don’t think this place has had a spring cleaning since it was built.”

Mickey still didn’t look happy, and Ian couldn’t figure out what the hell the other man’s problem was. Feeling like he was walking on eggshells, Ian’s voice was careful as he asked, “Is this okay?”

Seeming to shake off whatever dark thoughts had been running through his head, Mickey gave a casual shrug. “Sure, man, do whatever.”

The other man carefully stepped around where Ian was cleaning, shrugging out of his jacket as he went. Ian could hear Mickey’s heavy work boots clunking down the hallway. Quickly standing up, he washed his hands in the sink, and began pulling out the stuff he needed to make Mickey lunch.

“Ham and cheese sound okay?” he asked when Mickey reappeared.

The other man’s expression was blank.

“On your sandwich,” Ian elaborated.

The other man gave him a troubled look, but nodded his assent.

Lunch was spent in an uncomfortable silence. Ian couldn’t figure out what the fuck he’d done wrong. Yeah, Mickey’d been a little awkward when he’d left this morning, but things had been fine between them. Now, the other man’s brow was furrowed, and he was looking at his sandwich like the thing had offended him.

It was only after Mickey left that something occurred to Ian. Maybe the other man resented the way Ian had just made himself at home in the apartment. He hadn’t gotten Mickey’s go-ahead to start reorganising the place; Ian had just taken that decision on himself.

For a moment Ian was torn: on the one hand, he didn’t wanna piss Mickey off any more than he apparently already had. But on the other hand, Ian didn’t think he could handle watching the crap on tv. He would lose his mind.

Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, Ian decided.

It was after three when he emerged victorious from the kitchen. _You can eat off those damn floors now_ , he thought smugly. By now, the aches in Ian’s body were becoming impossible to ignore. He knew that he’d probably pushed himself too hard today, but it’d felt good to be busy.

Covered in sweat, Ian took an experimental whiff of himself. He pulled a face. Deciding to leave the rest of the apartment for another day, Ian went into the bathroom, planning to take a shower. That was when he spotted the magazines that he’d missed the previous times he’d been in there.

About a dozen copies of _Guns and Ammo_ were neatly stacked next to the toilet. Ian smiled at the sight of them; for some weird reason, he was glad that there were still some remnants of the gun-toting thug left inside Mickey somewhere.

Picking up the magazine at the top of the pile, Ian was casually flicking through it when something fluttered out from between the pages. It was the size of one of those fliers they handed out for parties, and it landed face down. Judging by the look of it, it was old, with plenty of creases and one dog-eared corner. Curious, Ian reached out, and flipped the thing over.

He froze when he realised what it was.

Before Ian had left the South Side, back when Mandy was still dating Lip, the two of them had been fooling around, taking selfies. Most of the pictures Ian and Mandy had taken had been together, but he’d done this one solo. In the picture, he’d donned a haughty expression, flipping the person behind the camera off. Mandy had only just managed to get the shot before Ian had burst out laughing.

He wondered how the hell Mickey’d gotten hold of the picture.

Judging by the photo’s well-worn state, it was something Mickey had looked at often. Ian stood there for a few minutes, thinking about what this meant. If he didn’t know any better, Ian could’ve sworn that Mickey’d missed him.

Hope—stupid, sharp, and bright—began to unfurl itself in his chest.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey got home late that night, later than Ian had expected. It was just past seven thirty, and the man stomped in with an irritable expression on his face. He scowled when he saw that Ian had dinner ready and waiting for him.

“What’s this?” he asked sharply.

Ian tried not to flinch. The way he figured it, Mickey’s current mood had been brought on by thwarted sexual frustration. That wouldn’t last long, though, not if Ian had anything to say about it.

“I wasn’t sure what time you’d be back, but I tried to keep it warm,” he told the other man. Ian didn’t mention that what a pain in the ass it’d been to cook a decent meal with only a microwave.

Mickey gave him a dark look, muttering “Thanks,” as he headed past the kitchen and towards the bedroom to change. Quickly, Ian carried the food over to the newly cleared coffee table, and put the plates down.

Dinner was almost as awkward as lunch, but Ian didn’t let it get to him. He felt more comfortable, because now he understood the dynamics of what was happening between them. It was a relief; now he could sort of pay Mickey back for taking care of him instead of being a burden with nothing to contribute.

Two episodes of _Pawn Stars_ and an _American Pickers_ later, Mickey announced that he was gonna shower, and get some sleep.

“You’re not gonna sleep on the couch again, right?” Ian asked the other man suspiciously,

Mickey froze for a moment before replying. “Was plannin’ on it.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Mick, there’s no reason we can’t share the bed.”

Running his hands through his hair in agitation, Mickey let out a little huff. “Don’t wanna repeat of this mornin’,” he told Ian.

“It’ll be fine,” Ian assured him. “C’mon, you can’t honestly tell me you wanna spend another night on this thing,” he continued, bouncing on the couch a little for emphasis.

The look on Mickey’s face told Ian that he was right, and when the other man reluctantly conceded, Ian had to hide his grin.

While Mickey was in the shower, Ian hurriedly got naked. While he wasn’t in any shape to do the hard work, there was nothing stopping Mickey from fucking _him._

He didn’t have to wait long. Within fifteen minutes, Mickey ambled into the room wearing a pair of boxers, an old t-shirt, and uggs. The other man froze in place when he spotted Ian sitting bare-ass naked on the bed.

“What the fuck?” Mickey sputtered, quickly averting his eyes.

Ian felt a flicker of uncertainty, but he ignored it.

“I want you to fuck me,” he told the dark haired man firmly.

That panic from earlier this morning, only more intense, crossed Mickey’s features.

“What are you fuckin’ talkin’ about?” Mickey still wouldn’t look at him. Shaking his head, the other man strode over to the closet, rummaged around, and tossed a pair of sweats at Ian. “Just... put some goddamn pants on, alright?”

Hurt, confusion, and embarrassment swirled around Ian as he pulled the too short sweats on. It was obvious that he’d misread the situation completely. Mickey didn’t want him. “You can turn around now,” he said quietly.

Mickey threw a cautious look over his shoulder before complying. He stared at Ian in bewilderment.

“Gallagher, what the fuck?”

Ian gave a little shrug, unable to meet the other man’s eyes. He could feel the burning flush of embarrassment creeping across his cheeks.

The silence stretched out between them, and Ian couldn’t take it anymore. He skirted around the bed, heading towards the door. Before he could make it out, Mickey reached out to take hold of his wrist.

“Hey, man, c’mon. Talk to me,” Mickey said, trying to meet Ian’s gaze. His hands were rough and calloused from the work he did, Ian noticed distantly. Jerking out of the other man’s grip, Ian ducked around him. Before Mickey could try to grab hold of him again, Ian darted into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Ian leaned against the cool wood, humiliation flooding through him.

_Fuck._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey stared at the closed bathroom door, feeling like an asshole. He definitely could’ve handled that better. But, in his own defence, there was _no fuckin’ way_ he coulda seen that comin’.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Mickey knocked gently. The door’s lock was busted, so he could’ve barged in if he wanted. But the last thing he wanted to do was upset Ian even further.

Silence greeted him, so he knocked again.

“Ian, please come out,” he said, trying out the magic word again.

Still nothing.

 _Okay, fuck this,_ Mickey decided. Pushing the door open roughly, he strode inside. Immediately, he saw that Ian was sitting on the edge of the tub, a tattered photo held between his fingers. The sight of that picture drew Mickey up short.

“I thought this meant you wanted me,” Ian said without looking up. His voice was soft, his shoulders hunched. “I guess I should’ve known better, right?” A humourless laugh.

Mickey felt something in his chest give a painful twist at that bleak sound. Fuck, he didn’t know how to deal with this. He spoke slowly, searching for the words to try to take the sting out of what Ian undoubtedly saw as a rejection.

“It’s not that I don’t want you...” Mickey began. No, that wasn’t where he wanted this to go. He tried again. “Gallagher, you’ve been off the drugs for ‘bout a week. I’m not gonna screw you when you’re like this.”

“Not interested in damaged goods, huh?” Ian asked bitterly.

“That’s not what I fuckin’ said!” Mickey flared up immediately. “Last week I found you passed out in a goddamn parkin’ lot. What kinda fuckin’ perv d’you think I am that I’d take advantage of you when you’re like this?”

Ian finally looked up, misery etched into his features. “I just... I wanted to thank you. For taking care of me.”

It took a moment for those words to sink in. Mickey felt a wave of disgust overtake him, not for the damaged man in front of him, but for the people who’d allowed Ian to use his body as currency.

Crouching down in front of the redhead, Mickey met his gaze without flinching.

“I’m not doin’ this ‘cause I’m lookin’ for a fuck buddy, or ‘cause I need you to be my goddamn maid. I don’t need to you to try an’ pay me back,” he told Ian seriously.

“Then why?” Ian asked. “With the way we left things...” His voice trailed off.

Mickey wasn’t sure how to answer that. All he knew was that the idea of Gallagher trying to kick his drug habit by himself, or else relying on the “charity” of others, was more than Mickey could stand.

“Look, a lot of shit went down between us, but...” Here Mickey hesitated, his natural instinct to keep things to himself warring with the desire to be honest. He took a deep breath before continuing. “But we were friends too. And I was hopin’ maybe we could still be friends.”

Ian looked away, and Mickey saw him swallow hard. He allowed the silence to stretch, giving the other man the time he needed to pull himself together. It was only when Ian was able to meet his gaze that Mickey spoke again.

“Come to bed. I’ll try not to grope you this time.”

Ian gave a shaky laugh at that. Getting up, he trailed behind Mickey to the bedroom, and watched as Mickey began to build a sort of pillow barrier down the middle of the bed.

“Mick?” Ian’s tone was hesitant.

“Yeah, I know it’s stupid, but it’s to make sure I don’t break my promise,” Mickey said, guessing that that was what the other man was gonna ask about.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just...” Again, Ian’s sentence trailed off.

Mickey straightened up from where he was arranging the pillows, his brow furrowed in concern. He found that instead of looking at him, Ian’s attention was focused on a patch of carpet.

“Ian, I need you to talk to me.”

The other man gave a jerky little shrug, clearly trying to keep his tone casual when he replied.

“It was nice, y’know... to be held. Helped me sleep better,” he muttered.

That was unexpected. Mickey stared at Ian for a moment as a flush slowly began to creep over the other man’s face.

“Y’know what, just forget it. I’m being dumb,” the redhead began, trying to shrug things off.

“Gallagher, shut the fuck up, and help me move these pillows,” Mickey interrupted tiredly.

Ian’s mouth abruptly snapped shut. His next words were snarky. “You managed to get them on there without anyone’s help.”

“Jesus Christ, Gallagher, just do it,” Mickey groaned.

Ian gave him a huffy look, the earlier embarrassment having faded away. Within a minute or two, all the pillows were back where they belonged, leaving them both to stare at the wide expanse of empty mattress.

Deciding to take the initiative, Mickey quickly climbed beneath the covers.

“Get in,” he commanded.

Ian slowly did as he was told, obviously not trusting the arrangement. Mickey waited until the man was lying stiffly under the blankets before shifting closer.

“Roll over,” Mickey said gruffly, having moved close enough to breathe in Ian’s scent.

Gallagher gave him a slightly alarmed look.

“Seriously, Mick, you don’t have to—”

But Mickey’d had enough. Letting out a little huff of exasperation, he closed the scant few inches between them, allowing his head to rest naturally on Ian’s shoulder, wrapping his arm around Ian’s waist.

The other man’s sharp exhalation told Mickey that he’d surprised Ian with his actions.

“Go to sleep,” Mickey grumbled, still feeling Ian lying tense beside him. “We’ll both wake up nicer people.”

Ian gave a derogatory snort at that, but his body gradually relaxed.

Mickey gave himself over to the exhaustion that’d been hounding him for the past week. The last thing he felt before he went under was Ian resting his hand on the arm Mickey had around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that you all enjoyed this chapter. Sadly, due to the interference of real life (bah!), it's going to be my last chapter for the year. I will update as soon as I can in January. Happy holidays everybody!


	10. If We Could Just Reset

Mickey’d been waiting in the park for over an hour. He knew Lana had told Mandy that she’d be there round ten, but he hadn’t wanted to take the chance that she might show up earlier. So, there he stood in the middle of the playground area with Yev’s gift tucked under his arm, freezing his balls off.

A couple people’d given him the stank eye, no doubt wondering what the fuck he was doing here in the midst of all these kids holding a toy. Mickey was just becoming convinced that someone was gonna call the cops when he spotted them.

Svetlana was wearing a thick coat, a pair of knee high boots, and she’d dyed her hair an unnatural red. She was with a blonde woman who’d tucked her hands in her pockets, her shoulders hunched against the cold. And between them was Yevgeny.

The kid was bundled up, wrapped in a jacket and a scarf. He was smaller than Mickey had expected. While he’d never had much experience with kids, he was sure Yev was supposed to be taller than that.

Hastily stomping out his cigarette and hiding Yev’s present behind his back, Mickey strode over to the trio, stopping a few feet in front of them. Lana’s expression made it clear that her opinion of him hadn’t changed in the years they’d been apart, and the blonde didn’t look happy either. But he ignored them, focusing instead on the kid. The little boy hovered close to his mother and the other woman, clearly wary of the stranger in front of him.

They stared at one another for a second, Mickey not sure how to do this. Luckily, Lana broke the tense silence; Mickey hadn’t ever thought it’d possible for him to be grateful to hear his ex-wife’s voice.

“Yevgeny, this is your father.” She didn’t sound happy about it. “Say hello to him.”

“Hello,” the little boy said cautiously.

Well, at least the kid wasn’t running away screaming. Taking that as encouragement, Mickey took a step closer, going down onto his haunches so that he’d be at eyelevel with Yev.

“Hey, kiddo. I, uh, I got somethin’ for you,” Mickey said, presenting the toy to his son.

Yev stared down at the teddy bear, his expression guarded. Mickey briefly wondered what’d happened to the kid that he already knew how to hide his emotions like that. He was kept from dwelling on it by Svetlana’s voice.

“It would be nice gift if he was three,” she scoffed.

Clenching his jaw, Mickey decided not to respond to her comment. Instead, he spoke to Yev.

“Sorry,” he said with a slight wince. “I’ll bring you somethin’ better next time, okay?”

“If there is next time,” Lana muttered.

 _Deep breaths_ , Mickey reminded himself.

“You wanna go for a walk?” he asked Yev, continuing to ignore his ex-wife.

The kid looked up from the bear to give him a considering look. Finally, he nodded, tucking the stuffed toy beneath his arm. Mickey straightened to walk beside Yev, and they finally made their way to a bench a couple of yards from where Lana and her companion were standing. Making sure that the kid stayed in Lana’s line of vision, Mickey sat down.

Yev followed suit, and they sat there quietly for a few minutes.

Mickey hated the silence, but he had no fuckin’ clue what to talk about with the kid. Well, he knew there was one thing he had to say before anything else.

Clearing his throat, Mickey forced the words out. “I’m, uh... I’m sorry I wasn’t around when you were younger.”

The little boy was staring at the teddy bear again, his thin shoulders lifting in a shrug. Mickey wondered if it was normal for the kid to be so quiet. Maybe if he started asking questions, Yev would open up more.

“You’re in school now, right?” Mickey checked. When he received a nod in response, he asked, “What grade?”

“First,” Yev answered softly.

“How you likin’ it?”

Another shrug.

“C’mon, kid, you gotta give me more than that,” Mickey said tiredly.

A pause. Then, “The other kids are mean. They pick on me.”

“The fuck for?” Mickey felt a sudden flash of anger at the thought of his kid being pushed around.

“They say I got a weird name. Make fun of me ‘cause of mom’s work. Stuff like that.”

Again, Mickey didn’t know what to say. His first instinct was to tell the kid to deck the little fuckers who were messing with him, but Mickey knew that wasn’t the best advice he could give to a six-year-old.

“You tell a teacher?” he asked instead. He didn’t like the idea of Yev being a narc, but it was probably the best response at this stage.

“She said it was a part of growing up,” the little boy replied.

Mickey spat out a vicious curse, and saw the kid flinch out of the corner of his eye.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologised. Scrabbling for something else to say to distract them both from the topic of Yev being bullied, Mickey spotted a hotdog stand in the distance. “You hungry? I’ll buy you a dog.”

The kid agreed, and a few minutes later they were chowing down on a foot long. It was stupid, but Mickey felt this little swell of pride as he watched Yev finish with his hotdog. Kid had an appetite.

After a while, they headed back towards where Lana and the blonde were smoking. He and Yev hadn’t talked much, mostly sitting together quietly, but Mickey thought things had gone pretty well.

“Thanks for lunch, man,” he said, giving Yev’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The little boy gave him a slight smile before heading over to his mother.

“Yo, Lana, can I talk to you for a sec?” Mickey asked before they could take off.

She gave him a suspicious look. Murmuring something quietly to Yev in Russian, she followed Mickey when he moved to stand a few feet away from his son and the other woman.

“I wanna see him again,” Mickey said without preamble.

“We will see,” she replied coolly.

“Oh, come the fuck on,” he snapped. “I just wanna get to know the kid!”

Lana gave him a disgusted look. “You want to know him now? Where have you been his whole life? Drunk off your ass because of orange boy!”

Mickey tried to beat down the fury quickly rising up inside him. While he’d had time to come to terms with a lot of the shit that’d happened between them, he couldn’t handle having Svetlana talk to him about Ian. But before he could say anything, his ex-wife continued in a calmer tone.

“I will ask Yevgeny if he wants to see you again. He must have choice.”

“I’m trying,” he told her in a tightly controlled voice.

“Maybe too late,” she said, flicking him with a dismissive glance. She turned to head back over to Yev and the blonde.

“Wait!” Mickey said abruptly.

His ex-wife turned back to him, the impatience fairly wafting off her. She raised her brows at him expectantly.

“Yev told me he’s bein’ bullied at school. What you doin’ about it?”

The hard expression on her face cracked slightly, revealing the fiercely protective mother beneath.

“I tell him to run,” Lana replied.

“That’s it?” Mickey asked in disbelief.

“You want me to tell him to use fists like you?” she snapped back. With that, Lana spun on her heel, heading back to where Yev and the other woman were waiting for her. She took hold of Yev’s hand, the one that wasn’t holding on to the bear, and began tugging him away.

The kid glanced over his shoulder at Mickey. Quickly, before Yev could look away, Mickey raised his hand in a wave.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door to the apartment opened while Ian was halfway through the first _Die Hard_. He’d gone through Mickey’s collection of dvds, consisting mostly of dated action movies, and had settled on the old favourite. Memories of him watching it with Lip were running parallel to the images on the screen, so Mickey’s sudden appearance startled him.

Quickly glancing up from where he was sitting on the floor in front of the couch—he didn’t know how Mickey’d slept on the goddamn thing—he saw the other man shrugging out of his heavy jacket. His movements were jerky and irritable. Ian watched as Mickey yanked open the fridge door, staring into it for long moments. Finally, he closed it, and ran his hands through his hair.

Ian put the tv on mute, waiting for Mickey to turn around before he spoke.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

Mickey released a deep sigh before answering. “Fine. Better than I thought it would.” He walked into the living room, stepping over Ian’s outstretched legs, and flopped down onto the couch.

“Then why the long face?” Ian asked, glancing over his shoulder at the scowling man.

“Ex-wife’s a bitch,” Mickey muttered. “Don’t know if she’s gonna let me see the kid again.”

Ian was surprised at how much Mickey seemed to want to be involved with his son. The idea of the other man trying to play dad made Ian want to smile.

“What’s he like?” Ian turned back to face the tv so Mickey wouldn’t see the expression on his face.

“Quiet,” Mickey replied, his tone troubled. “An’ he looks too much like me not to be mine.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ian said, grinning at the idea of there being a little Mickey running around in the world.

“Poor kid,” Mickey said with a scoff.

Ian rolled his eyes at that, but didn’t respond. He didn’t tell the other man that for a long time, Ian hadn’t been able to imagine anything else he’d rather look at.

They sat there in companionable silence for a couple minutes before Ian reached for the remote. Unmuting the tv, the two of them watched as Bruce Willis saved the day. It was only when the credits began rolling that Ian realised that during the course of the movie, he’d subconsciously moved closer to Mickey. By the end, he was leaning against the other man’s leg, with Mickey running his hand through Ian’s hair absentmindedly.

It seemed that Mickey noticed what he was doing at roughly the same time as Ian, and he pulled away hastily. But instead of the uncomfortable throat clearing and avoidance tactics, Mickey surprised him.

“You wanna go out later?”

Ian twisted around to give the dark haired man a questioning look.

“After my meetin’,” Mickey clarified. “Figured you’d wanna get outta here for a while.”

“Uh, yeah, that’d be great,” Ian replied.

After staring at each other in silence for a second, Mickey asked, “You wanna watch the next one?”

They spent the hours before Mickey’s meeting making their way through the entire _Die Hard_ series, promising to move on to move onto _Transporter_ the next day.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey arrived at the church later than usual, bordering on late. He was in a good mood from the day he’d spent with Ian, and was just about to step through the church doors when he heard a voice calling his name. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Lewis standing off to the side. The older man was holding onto an unlit cigarette.

Instead of going inside, Mickey turned to his sponsor.

“You gonna start up again?” he asked, nodding at Lewis’s hand. Mickey already knew the answer; his sponsor’s wife would rip his balls off if he came home smelling like smoke. The older man usually just held onto them without lighting up when he was stressed.

Lewis shook his head, his brow furrowed into a deep frown. Mickey could see the older man rolling the cigarette between his fingers anxiously.

“You okay?” he asked in concern. Mickey didn’t think he’d ever seen his sponsor look so serious.

“I need to talk to you about somethin’,” Lewis said solemnly. “But I need you to hear me out without interruptin’. Can you do that?”

Mickey stared at him silently.

“Mickey!” the older man barked.

“You told me not to interrupt,” Mickey reminded him with a smirk.

Lewis didn’t seem to share his amusement. Scowling, muttering irritably under his breath, the older man paced back and forth a couple times. Mickey wondered how much longer this was gonna take. By now, they crossed over from “to cutting it fine” to “death stares for walking in late”. He was just about to ask Lewis what was going on when his sponsor spoke.

“I know it’s none of my business, but I gotta ask: is that kid still stayin’ with you?”

Mickey nodded, not sure where this was going.

“And you say he was stickin’ himself with needles?”

“He was usin’ heroin,” Mickey answered slowly. “Lewis, what’s this about?”

His sponsor looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, shifting from one foot to the other. Still, he stared Mickey in the eye when he replied.

“I think you need to talk him ‘bout gettin’ tested for HIV.”

Mickey stared at him for a second, frozen with disbelief. Was he fuckin’ serious? Judging by the look on Lewis’s face, he was.

“Yeah, ‘cause all homos are AIDS-riddled ass diggers,” Mickey sneered. He couldn’t believe Lewis had gone there. All the trust they’d built between them, and the older man had just fuckin’ smashed it to pieces.

“I have never said that,” Lewis told him with quiet dignity. “And I never will. But you gotta be smart about this, Mickey. Even if you two don’t get physical again, he should know. The risks are higher for heroin users.”

Mickey couldn’t listen to this anymore.

“You’re right,” he said coldly. “It’s none of your fuckin’ business.”

With that, Mickey strode into the church, and stomped down into the basement. He ignored the dirty looks thrown his way for his late arrival, flinging himself into his usual seat at the back of the room.

Mickey spent the next hour seething at Lewis’s suggestion. Barely making out the words of his fellow addicts, all he felt was betrayal. He’d been fuckin’ _honest_ with Lewis, more than he’d been with almost anyone, and Lewis had just shit on all of it.

The last member of their little congregation had just barely finished speaking when Mickey launched himself out of his chair. He strode out of the stuffy little room without a backward glance. Ground eating steps until he finally made it outside into the cold night air and his car. Taking a few deep breaths, Mickey tried to swallow his fury.

It took a while for calm to settle over him, and with it came a gut-wrenching realisation: Lewis was right.


	11. This Air Between Us is Getting Thinner Now

They went out to a small restaurant a few blocks away from Mickey’s apartment. The place was nice, nicer than Ian would’ve expected to find on the South Side, and there weren’t many people around. The staff were polite, but they weren’t overly friendly; they took Mickey and Ian’s order without fanfare, and left.

“How’d your meeting go?” he asked the other man once they were alone.

Mickey gave a stiff shrug, his jaw clenched.

Okay, that was weird.

“You do any sharin’?” Ian asked curiously.

“Did it last week,” came the muttered reply.

“I should probably find a meeting soon,” Ian commented.

A non-committal grunt was his only response.

Ian stared at the man sitting opposite him for a moment before dropping the subject. Clearly Mickey didn’t wanna talk about his meeting for whatever reason, and any questions Ian asked were just gonna piss the other man off.

“How’d you find this place?” Ian finally asked, scrabbling for something else to say.

“Place I usually go to burnt down,” Mickey replied.

“Arson?” Ian guessed.

“New short order cook. Guy had his head up his fuckin’ ass.”

They lapsed into silence after that. Ian wondered what was going on with the other man. Mickey’d been fine before he’d left for his meeting. Hell, he’d even seemed like he was in a good mood. Now, all traces of that relaxed, smiling Mickey had disappeared. In his place was a surly asshole.

_Fuckin’ fine_ , Ian thought with an obstinate set of his jaw. He wasn’t gonna beg Mickey to speak to him. Instead, he sat back in his seat, refusing to speak to the other man.

They sat there quietly until well after the waiter had brought them their dinner. Ian angled himself so he didn’t have to look at Mickey while he was eating. They finished up, and he chose to wait outside while Mickey paid the bill.

They drove back to Mickey’s apartment in tense silence. Ian flinched away from Mickey when the other man reached out to help him take the stairs.

“Don’t need your help,” he muttered.

Mickey released an impatient sigh, letting his arm drop to his side. But instead of arguing the point, or leaving Ian to navigate the stairs by himself, Mickey followed alongside him, taking a step up for every one of Ian’s.

By the time they’d made their way up to the second floor, Ian had to stop to rest. He was gasping for air, his legs feeling like they were made of jelly. Mickey waited beside him patiently. Common sense told Ian to ask for help. Pride told common sense to fuck off; there was no way Ian was gonna let Mickey touch him after he’d been such a dick tonight.

They finally got up to the apartment, and Ian headed straight for the couch, all but collapsing on the thing. He lay there for a few moments, just enjoying his ability to breathe, when he felt a prickle of awareness. Opening his eyes, Ian looked up to find Mickey staring at him. The expression on the other man’s face was serious.

“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck your problem is, or are you gonna keep giving me the silent treatment?” Ian asked irritably.

“There’s somethin’ I gotta talk to you about,” Mickey said, his tone subdued. But instead of spitting it out, he fell silent again.

“Are you gonna make me guess? Or are we gonna play charades?” Ian asked sarcastically. When Mickey still didn’t speak, Ian lost patience. “Y’know what, fuck you,” he snapped. Getting off the couch, he headed for the hallway.

“I think you need do an AIDS test.” The words ran together, sounding slightly strangled, like Mickey’d had to force them out.

Ian froze in place. There was no way the other man had actually said that.

“What did you say?” He turned around, staring at Mickey in disbelief.

Mickey was obviously uncomfortable, but he squared his shoulders and met Ian’s incredulous gaze.

“I think you need to get tested, man,” he replied seriously. “You’ve been usin’ needles, and that shit probably fucked with your judgement. Who knows what happened to you while you were shootin’ up.”

Taking advantage of Ian’s silence, Mickey hastily continued. “We can go down to the clinic, and I’ll cov—”

But Ian had finally found his voice again.

“Your dad really beat that whole ‘AIDS monkey’ thing into you, huh?” he said sardonically. He fought to keep up the mocking facade, while inside he was flailing. Where the fuck had this come from? Mickey’d told him that he didn’t expect sex in return for what he was doing, but why else would he bring this up?

“Don’t be an asshole.” Mickey spoke through gritted teeth. “If you’re sick, you need to know.”

“Why?” Ian snapped back. “You change your mind ‘bout us fucking?”

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” the other man growled. He raked his hands through his hair furiously. Mickey appeared to be taking a couple of deep breaths, and his voice was calmer when he answered. “I told you I’m not interested in a fuck buddy, and I fuckin’ meant it. But if somethin’ is wrong, you need to get it treated.”

“I’m fine.”

Ian watched as Mickey stiffened, his eyes sparking with fury. The other man took two large strides towards him, and jerked on his arm. Taking hold of Ian’s wrist, Mickey shoved up his sleeve, baring the healing track marks that stood out in sharp contrast to his pale skin.

“Look at this,” Mickey yelled. “You were stickin’ fuckin’ needles in your arm! You gonna tell me that you were a _responsible drug user_?” Mickey asked sarcastically. “Or that when I found you the other night, it was the first time you’d blacked out?”

Ian didn’t reply, couldn’t look at the other man as a flood of anger and shame washed through him. Instead, he yanked his arm free from Mickey’s hold. He didn’t know what to do, and he was feeling claustrophobic inside the apartment.

Ignoring the panic that was beginning to creep up on him, Ian spun around on his heel. He stalked over to the front door, pulling the thing open, and stepping out into the cold outside. Ian grabbed hold of the railing in front of him, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. The metal was freezing, and he tried to concentrate on that instead of the angry accusations of the man inside. Focusing on the biting cold, Ian inhaled and exhaled slowly.

He didn’t know how long he stayed outside. It was only when his teeth were chattering that Ian decided to go back inside the apartment. The light was on in Mickey’s bedroom, and he could hear the other man moving around.

Ian slept on the couch that night.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey and Ian alternated between tense silence, and sniping at each other irritably on Sunday. Ian refused to share the bed with Mickey, wouldn’t even be in the same room with him. The situation was made even more frustrating by the fact that he was in _Mickey’s_ apartment. The trapped feeling had crept up on him often, and Ian had spent much of the day camped out on the stairwell.

Ian was glad when Monday rolled around, and Mickey had to head to work. Not only because it meant that he didn’t have to look at the asshole’s face for a few hours, but also because Mandy came over.

It was almost nine when Ian heard the knocking at the front door. He hesitated just in front of the thing, not sure what to do. Mickey hadn’t mentioned that someone was coming over; or maybe he had, and Ian had just ignored him. A loud voice shouting through the door made any further internal debate unnecessary.

“Ian, open the door! It’s fuckin’ freezing out here.”

An automatic smile crossed Ian’s features as he jerked the door open immediately. Mandy barrelled inside, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Took you long enough,” she grumbled before shutting the door behind her. Mandy quickly dropped the stuff she was holding in her arms onto the kitchen counter. Turning around, hands on her hips, she gave him an assessing look.

“Do I pass inspection?” Ian teased after a moment.

“Not really,” Mandy replied with a snort. “But you look better than you did the last time I saw you. C’mere.”

Ian took an obedient step forward. They wrapped their arms around each other, holding on for a few seconds.

“You want some coffee?” he asked when they finally pulled apart.

“God, yes,” Mandy groaned. “Can’t remember the last time I was up this early on a Monday.”

“You could’ve come over later,” Ian said, casting a glance over his shoulder.

Mandy pulled a face at him.

“I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me last week,” he reminded her.

“Havin’ a hard time convincin’ myself that you won’t disappear again,” she replied quietly.

Remorse instantly flooded Ian. He turned around to face her, wanting to apologise again, but Mandy held up a hand to stop him.

“I need coffee before we have this conversation.”

Ian nodded. While he finished up with the coffee, Mandy drifted into the living room.

“Jesus, what the hell happened in here?” she called out.

“What d’you mean?” he asked as he joined her. Ian was holding the two mugs in his hands, and carefully placed them on the coffee table. He looked around the room, unable to see anything out of place.

“It’s so... _clean_ ,” Mandy replied. There was amazement in her voice.

“Oh, uh... I got bored,” he replied sheepishly.

“Well, shit, Ian. You can come over to my place and be bored there,” Mandy joked.

Ian forced a laugh as he wondered it maybe that wasn’t a good idea. With the friction between him and Mickey, some distance would probably be good for both of them. Before he got the chance to ask her about it, Mandy spoke.

“I talked to Lip.”

Ian froze automatically at the mention of his brother. _Please, God, don’t let her have said anything_ , he thought desperately.

“Relax,” she said, seeing the expression on his face. “I didn’t mention you. I told him I was just checkin’ in. Figured you’d wanna know how everyone was doin’ once you were feelin’ better.”

“Oh,” he said lamely, the relief flooding through him. “How-how is he?”

“Workin’ at some fancy law firm,” she answered with a broad grin. Ian knew that even though Lip had left Mandy behind, she was still probably in love with him. It made Ian sad to know that Lip didn’t feel the same way about her.

“That’s amazing,” he replied, choosing to focus instead on the good news. “What else, uh... what else did he tell you?”

“Debbie got a scholarship,” Mandy said, her pleasure in his sibling’s achievements evident. “She’s talkin’ about goin’ to med school. Carl’s been in an’ out of juvie.” Mandy rolled her eyes. “Last time was for arson, I think. Liam’s doin’ good at school. He’s on the baseball team.” Here her smile dimmed slightly. It took a second for Ian to notice, too busy trying to process what he’d just heard.

“What’s up?” he asked when he finally noticed her hesitation.

“Nothin’, it’s just...” Again, she paused. Mandy reached out to take his hand before continuing. “Your dad died about a year after you left. His liver failed.”

Ian stared at Mandy for a moment. She squeezed his hand comfortingly, obviously concerned that the news had upset him. Thinking it over, Ian wasn’t sure how he felt about Frank being dead. Wasn’t like they’d ever had the best relationship. Deciding to shelve it for now, Ian asked about the sibling Mandy hadn’t mentioned.

“What about Fiona? Is she okay? Mickey said she’d married Jimmy, but he didn’t know anything else.”

The sympathetic look Mandy gave him had panic flooding through him.

“Mandy, please, just tell me.”

“They seem to be really happy. They’re in Michigan now. Had their first kid a few months back. Her name’s Rebecca.”

It felt as though the floor had dropped out from under him. Somewhere out there in the world, he had a niece, and he’d had no idea before now. This news hurt a million times worse than hearing that Frank had died, because it drove home how much Ian had missed while he’d been gone.

He distantly heard Mandy calling his name. Being pulled into slender arms barely registered. All Ian could think was that his family were strangers to him now, and it was his fault.

“Oh, Jesus, I fucked up,” he gasped out. “I fucked up so bad.”

He didn’t know how long they sat there for. When he finally calmed down, Ian noticed that the front of Mandy’s shirt was wet. He’d been so lost in his own misery, he hadn’t realised that he’d been sobbing.

Ian lifted his head, looking into Mandy’s own tear stained face.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a hoarse voice as he pulled away. He straightened, scrubbing at the tears on his cheeks.

Mandy gave him a watery smile. “I get it,” she said softly. “It’s a lot to process, all the could’ve/should’ve beens. I was the same when my dad died.”

“Wait, Terry’s dead?” he asked.

“Mickey didn’t tell you?”

Ian shook his head.

Mandy took her time before answering him, wiping away her own tears, readjusting her shirt. When she spoke, her words were bitter.

“He fucked with the wrong queer. Guy managed to stab Terry seventeen times before the guards pulled him off. Dad was dead before they even got him to the infirmary.”

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, being the one to reach out this time. While Ian was glad Terry was dead, he was sorry that Mandy was hurting. She’d loved her father for whatever reason.

Mandy gave a little shrug. “It was a while ago. And, honestly, it’s... a relief. He can’t come back to hurt us anymore.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey had hoped that things would improve the next couple of days. After all, he reasoned, Gallagher’d never held a grudge before, and Mickey had said some fucked up shit to the redhead in the past.

Except, like so much else about Ian lately, that had changed.

The week after their blowout was filled with stilted silences, and Gallagher quietly going out of his way to piss Mickey off. Things had been rearranged, from the clothes in his closet to the fuckin’ food in the fridge. Mickey couldn’t find _anything._

“The fuck did you do?” Mandy had asked him furiously the day before.    

“Nothin’,” he’d growled back, trying to find where the asshole pointedly ignoring him in the living room had put the cheese.

“You gonna tell me that nothin’s wrong?” she shot back.

“Why don’t you ask him why he’s actin’ like a little bitch?” Mickey didn’t care if Gallagher heard him at this point. He’d had it up to fuckin’ _here_ with the other man’s passive-aggressive bullshit.

That night, Mickey’d spent the evening smoking outside his apartment until Ian had gone to sleep.

Today, he was hoping that things would go better.

Lunchtime on Tuesday had Mickey stepping into a silent apartment. Usually when Mickey came home, he could hear the sound of the tv, or music playing. Gallagher didn’t seem to like the quiet, so there was always some kind of noise.

Today, nothing.

Thinking that the other man might be sleeping, Mickey toed off his work boots so he wouldn’t make any noise as he moved around the apartment. As soon as he came into the living room, though, instead of finding the redhead curled up on the couch, there was no one there.

_Was Ian sleeping on the bed?_ Mickey wondered. That could be a good thing, a sign the other man was thawing out. Padding quietly down the hallway, Mickey peered into his bedroom. The bed was empty.

Tendrils of panic began to slowly wind around Mickey. Fighting to keep himself calm, he hurried towards the bathroom, almost hoping to find Gallagher hunched over the toilet. He wasn’t in there.

The apartment was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably copped out by killing off both Frank and Terry, which I will admit is complete wish fulfillment on my part. Also, I've kind of stalled on this a little bit (I don't know if you'll be able to tell with this chapter) and the prospect of writing either of those characters in the future is enough to have me wanting to hide under my bed. Anyhow, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.


	12. Out. For. A. Walk... Bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the Buffy reference, but I couldn't think of anything else to use for this chapter's title.

Ian felt like he was losing his mind. He’d been staying with Mickey for just over two weeks now, and the walls were beginning to close in on him. He was pretty sure this was the longest he’d stayed in one place over the last few years, and while it was comforting on some level, it was also driving him insane.

Hoping to distract himself, Ian headed into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets. He had a sudden craving for _Lucky Charms_ , and he couldn’t find the damn things. Well, that was probably his own fault. In an effort to get back at Mickey in whatever way he could for the whole AIDS comment, Ian had taken to repacking the fridge and cupboards, hiding everything in plain sight. Petty, he knew, but it made him feel better.

Only problem was, Ian couldn’t find what he was looking for, either.

Finally having located the cereal, Ian found that all they had was... fuckin’ _Corn Flakes_.

Ian scowled at the offending box. He could just have something else—and God knew Mickey’d bought enough food to feed a friggin’ army—but he wanted _Lucky Charms,_ goddamn it.

_This is bullshit_ , Ian thought suddenly. He was a full-grown man; he could leave the apartment whenever he damn well felt like it.

Marching into Mickey’s room, Ian pulled on the scarf, coat, and gloves that he’d worn the last time he’d gone out. Next, he rifled through the kitchen drawer for change, managing to put together enough money to pay for his cereal.

Ian was just about to leave when something made him pause. Turning around to check the time on the microwave, he saw it was just past nine. Mickey wouldn’t be home for hours still. Plenty of time to walk to the Kash and Grab, and back, and to work up a decent head of steam over this whole healthy eating bullshit.

The walk down to the convenience store was uneventful, except for the drug dealer that was lurking just outside the apartment building, and who offered to hook him up. Ian was tempted for a moment, but instead shrugged the guy off.

Stepping into the Kash and Grab, Ian froze just at the threshold. All he could do was stare. The place was a mess: bags of chips had been opened, their contents strewn across the floor; glass jars were broken; and there were empty cans of beer lying in front of the counter.

“Jesus. What the hell happened in here?” he wondered aloud.

“Not Jesus. Jason and his pot head friends broke in last night.”

Ian jumped at the sound of Linda’s voice. Distracted as he was by the debris, he hadn’t noticed her coming up the aisle closest to him.

“Little twerps forgot about the surveillance system. They thought coming here would be easier than going to _White Castle_.”

While there was no doubt that Linda was furious, Ian was able to detect the faintest tremor in her voice.

“Where are the twins?” he asked, glancing around the store again. It looked like a herd of rampaging rhinos had come crashing through the place.

“They’re at school, where they should be,” she said, attempting to pull herself together. Walking briskly across the store, Linda reached for the broom leaning against the wall. Ian spoke without thinking.

“Let me do that for you.”

Linda stared at him for a moment. “Why would you wanna do that?” she asked suspiciously.

“I dunno...” Ian cast about for a good reason. “To make up for bailing, leaving you in the lurch.”

The woman gave him an arch look. “Oh, I thought you were gonna say for screwing my husband.”

“Or-or that,” Ian said, feeling a blush creeping across his cheeks.

A faint smile appeared on Linda’s face before it quickly vanished.

“You sure you can manage?”

Ian set his jaw. He’d get this place cleaned up even if he had to be there all day. Reaching for the broom, Ian got to work. The time passed quickly, and soon he and Linda had made some progress in restoring order to the little convenience store.

They were just taking a break when Linda turned to him, a serious expression on her face.

“Do you want your old job back?” she asked without warning.

“What?” he blurted out in surprise.

Linda gave an impatient sigh. “Do you want your old job back?” she repeated slowly. “There is no way in hell I’m letting Jason back in here, and I know that you’re at least semi-reliable. And it’ll save me from having to break in someone new.”

“Yeah, abso-absolutely,” he stammered. “That’d be great!”      

Sure, there wouldn’t be much more to do here in the Kash and Grab than he’d be doing at the apartment, but at least he’d be seeing people. And he’d be able to start chipping in for groceries, and paying Mickey rent...

_Shit, Mickey._

Glancing around frantically for the time, Ian focused on the clock behind the register, saw that was just past one. Mickey’d probably be home for his lunch hour by now. Ian hadn’t left a note telling the other man where he was.

“Can I start tomorrow?” he asked Linda suddenly.

The woman was clearly taken aback; she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m offering you a job, and you wanna start tomorrow?”

Ian fidgeted. “I’ve been staying with Mickey for the last while, and I didn’t tell him where I’d gone. He might be worried if he comes home, and I’m not there.”

Silence for a moment. Then Linda gave a derogatory scoff.

“I see your taste in men has not improved.” She took the broom from him, and resumed sweeping. “Be here at eight,” she said without looking up from what she was doing.

“Got it,” he answered.

Ian hurried back to the apartment. The work he’d done while helping Linda had left him kinda tired, so he couldn’t walk as fast as he would’ve liked. Skirting that same drug dealer, Ian hustled into the apartment building. Then he stopped, letting out a pained groan.

Fucking stairs.      

Trudging up the steps, Ian allowed himself to hope that maybe Mickey hadn’t come home for lunch today. He’d been pretty huffy yesterday, his aggravation at Ian’s passive-aggressive attempts to piss him off clear.

_Yeah_ , Ian tried to tell himself, _Mickey probably would still be at work._

The thought had just crossed his mind when he heard footsteps coming from above him. By the sound of it, whoever it was was in a hurry. Ian moved to the side of the stairwell to give way to the person coming down. Then he heard a familiar voice.

“C’mon, man, it’s a family thing. Fuckin’ asshole disappeared, an’ I need to go look for him.” A pause. “No, I’m not turnin’ into a flake. I’ll try be there tomorrow, but—”

Mickey’s voice abruptly cut off. Slowly, Ian looked up to find the other man standing at the top of the staircase. Jaw clenched, eyes blazing with fury, Mickey looked like he was one smartass comment away from kicking Ian’s ass.

“I’ll call you back,” he barked at the person on the end of the line. Without waiting for a response, Mickey hung up.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them saying anything. Resentment and remorse mingled together, and Ian was torn between wanting to apologise for not letting Mickey know where he was, and wanting to remind the other man that he wasn’t a goddamn child. Choosing not to say anything, Ian slowly made his way up the stairs, past Mickey, and back towards the apartment.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey’s temper was frayed, and he was barely holding on to the urge to deck the ungrateful fuck who’d been camping out in his apartment over the last few weeks. The impulse was made even worse when said ungrateful fuck calmly walked past him, and didn’t offer a single word of explanation; instead, the redhead seemed to expect Mickey to follow after him like some bitch.

Grinding his teeth, Mickey quietly trailed along behind Gallagher. Once they were in the apartment, though, he found that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for another second.

“You goddamn fuckin’ asshole. What, you couldn’t leave a fuckin’ note? You forget how to write while you been gone?”

Ian glanced at Mickey over his shoulder, an insolent expression on his face.

“You’re not my mother, you’re not my boyfriend,” the other man said coldly. “You have no say over what I do, or where I fuckin’ go!” Gallagher’s voice had gotten progressively louder, to the point where the last word was almost a shout.

It was all Mickey could do to keep his jaw from hitting the floor as disbelief coursed through him. “Are you serious right now?” he asked incredulously. “I took you in after I found you passed out in a goddamn parking lot—”

“You didn’t have to do me any favours,” Ian snapped.

“—I took care of you, and you can’t leave a note tellin’ me that you’re not out there somewhere shootin’ up again!”

“Oh, right, I forgot,” Ian said sarcastically, “I’m an AIDS monkey with no will power. Course I’d start usin’ again as soon as you had your back turned. Y’know, you’re lucky you got home when you did, ‘cause I was comin’ back to pawn your tv.”

Those mocking words snapped the slender threads of Mickey’s control. Before he could stop himself, he was stalking over to Ian, and his fist was flying. He regretted his actions as soon as he hauled off, and tried to pull back some. Still, Mickey’s fist still managed to graze Ian’s jaw, sending the redhead stumbling back onto the couch behind him.

For a moment they were both frozen.

Then Ian launched himself at Mickey.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian could barely breathe through the fury. It wasn’t so much the punch that’d pissed him off, so much as the fact that he could sense that Mickey had held back. Ian knew all too well that the other man could hit harder than the tap he’d just dished out.

The idea of being treated like he was made of glass, even when Mickey was pissed, pushed Ian over the edge. He tackled the other man, sending them both crashing down onto the floor. Before Mickey could move to defend himself, Ian began to pummel him, landing one hit, a second, and then a third. He was going for a fourth when Mickey suddenly flipped them over.

The other man landed on top of him, and Ian did his best to buck Mickey off while still trying to punch the asshole in the face.

“Ian, stop!” Mickey yelled, attempting to grab hold of his wrists.

“Fuck you!”

For all Ian’s struggles, it only took a few minutes for Mickey to pin him down. In the back of his mind, he knew that he should be freaking out at being held down like this, but he was too fuckin’ furious to care.

Panting, Ian gave up, the adrenaline having drained out of him. Still angry, he glared up at the man still on top of him.

“Get. Off. Me,” he bit out.

“Not ‘til you hear what I have to say,” Mickey replied firmly.

“Not interested,” Ian snapped.

“Tough shit,” the other man growled. Mickey took a deep breath, leaning back a little so he wasn’t right in Ian’s face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

Ian froze, staring at Mickey incredulously.

And got pissed off all over again.

Taking advantage of Mickey’s loosened grip, Ian shoved the other man off him, and scrambled to his feet.

“Jesus Christ, Gallagher, the fuck’s your problem?” Mickey shouted, looking up from where he’d landed on his ass.

“My problem?” Ian yelled back. “You’re treatin’ me like a fuckin’ kid! Like I’m broken, or somethin’. Pullin’ punches? Since fuckin’ when?”

He knew that he probably wasn’t making any sense, but he couldn’t stand the idea of Mickey treating him like a victim. Because if all the other man saw was a victim, it meant that he’d stopped seeing Ian.

“I’m not broken,” he mumbled.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey sat up slowly as his frustration with the redhead in front of him fled. Staring at Ian’s slumped shoulders and dejected expression, he felt like an ass.

“Gallagher, c’mon, man. Nobody’s sayin’ you’re broken,” he told the other man as he stood. Mickey took a few cautious steps closer to Ian, trying to meet his gaze.

“Yeah? That why you suddenly think I’m some kinda pussy that can’t take a hit?”

“That’s why you’re mad?” Mickey asked incredulously. “‘Cause I didn’t hit you hard enough?”

Ian glared at him. “No, I’m mad because you don’t think I can handle it.”

Mickey withheld a sigh. He wanted to tell the redhead that the real reason he’d held back was because the idea of hurting Ian anymore than he already had made him hate himself. Instead, he moved even closer to the other man, and offered a teasing smile.

“If I promise to hit you harder next time, will you stop bein’ pissed off?”

Mickey’s grin widened when Ian huffed out a reluctant laugh.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Mandy might’ve mentioned it,” Mickey replied with a shrug. He paused, hating to break the temporary truce, but knew this needed to be said. “An’... you’re right. I was worried, and I overreacted. You don’t owe me any explanations.”

There was a moment of silence, and Mickey felt incredibly uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat. “I, uh... I should probably get back to work. Greg’s gonna kick my ass if I take too much time off.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ian answered quietly.

With both of them determinedly avoiding eye contact, Mickey quickly left the apartment.


	13. Abandon All the Bones We've Got to Pick

Mickey spent the rest of the workday distracted, ignoring his colleagues who wanted to know what’d happened to his face. While Gallagher may not be in the same fighting form he’d been in before he’d left, the guy still knew how to throw a punch; the bruises had shown up on Mickey’s pale skin soon after their fight.

Standing outside the apartment door, Mickey experienced what was becoming a familiar attack of nerves. The tension that’d stretched between him and Ian the last few days had broken, but he had no idea what kind of reception he’d get.

Bracing himself for the worst, Mickey stepped inside the apartment.

Ian was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the couch. He was holding a bag of peas to his jaw, and was watching the cooking show on tv with an intent expression. The redhead looked up at the sound of the door closing behind Mickey.

“Hey,” Mickey greeted him cautiously.

Ian’s answering “Hey,” was just as tentative, and Mickey felt like he was walking on eggshells. Turning his back on the other man, Mickey shrugged out of his jacket, and reached blindly for the mail in an attempt to find something to do with his hands.

Flipping through them disinterestedly, Mickey quickly dumped the bills back on the kitchen counter. He turned around to find the redhead a foot or two behind him.

Ian’s attention appeared to be centred on the swelling just under Mickey’s eye and the bruises that had formed along his cheekbone; the other man winced.

“You probably need this more than I do,” Ian said, holding out the frozen peas to Mickey.

Willing to accept any form of peace offering, Mickey took the bag with a muttered “Thanks,” before pressing the thing to his face. The cold immediately made him flinch, but he sucked it up. He’d be lucky if his damn eye wasn’t swollen shut tomorrow.

Silence. And then, “I’m sorry about that.”

Mickey looked up at the other man, meeting remorseful green eyes.

“Nah, man, don’t be. I hit you first,” he replied as he stepped around Ian, and parked himself in front of the tv. Like Gallagher, Mickey chose to sit on the floor rather than the couch. Taking in the angry blond guy with the British accent on screen, Mickey changed the subject. “Didn’t know you were into this sorta thing.”

“It was either this or _Giuliana and Bill_. Was the lesser of two evils. Plus, it’s always fun to hear new and more exciting ways to use the word ‘fuck’. He curses almost as much as you do,” Ian said with a small smile.

They sat beside one another for a few minutes, watching as Ramsay made one of the contestants cry.

“Guy’s kind of a dick,” Mickey commented, moving the bag to the other side of his face.

“Uh-huh.”               

The show finally came to an end, and Ian reached for the remote to turn the sound down.

“I went down to the Kash and Grab this morning,” he said, turning to face Mickey.

“Look, Gallagher, you don’t owe me explanations,” Mickey began.

“What, you don’t wanna hear it?” Ian asked defensively.

Talking a deep breath, Mickey answered slowly; he needed to be careful not to shatter the fragile peace that had formed between them after their fight this afternoon.

“If you wanna tell me, I wanna hear it. But you don’t gotta feel like you have to tell me.”

Ian didn’t speak for a moment, and Mickey thought that was gonna be the end of their conversation. He was mentally kicking himself, trying to think of a way to get the redhead to talk.

“Linda gave me a job.”

Immediately, Mickey’s head whipped around so he could stare at Gallagher.

“What?” he said, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“She fired that Jason guy. Said it’d be easier for me to work there so she won’t have to, like, train me, or anything.”

“That’s great,” Mickey told him.

Ian gave a self-conscious shrug. “It’s not much, but it’s a job. That way I can chip in with groceries, and whatever.”

Mickey wanted to tell Ian that he didn’t have to pay Mickey back, that he didn’t expect anything in return for Ian staying here, but he didn’t think the redhead would listen. Instead, Mickey asked, only half-jokingly, “Does this mean you’re gonna stop rearrangin’ the fuckin’ food in the fridge?”

Ian stared at him for a second before grinning.

“Maybe.”

Relief fluttered inside Mickey’s chest in that instant. He lowered the bag of peas from his aching face, returning the other man’s smile. Suddenly restless, he looked around the apartment before turning back to Ian.

“You wanna go out an’ do somethin’?” Mickey asked suddenly.

The other man gave him a surprised look.

“Like what?”

“I dunno, let’s go watch a movie, have dinner, or somethin’. Celebrate you bein’ a functioning member of society.”

Mickey’d said that last bit as a joke, but Ian’s bright expression had dimmed. The redhead looked away from him, his smile vanishing.

“‘Functioning member of society’, huh? As opposed to what I am now? A parasite?” Ian asked quietly.

“That’s not what I said,” Mickey answered, trying not to snap. Between one breath and the next, the tension was back, Ian immediately turning closed off and defensive. Damn it, why couldn’t they have a conversation without it turning into an argument?

Taking a deep breath, Mickey tried to get them back to where they were before he’d let his mouth run away from him.

“You got a job,” he reminded Ian. “You’re mixin’ with people again. It’s important that you don’t... shut yourself off. I was just... I figured you’d wanna do somethin’ fun, is all.”

Frustrated, but keeping a tight leash on it, Mickey shrugged, getting up off the floor. He left the apartment before Ian could reply, leaning against the cold metal railing outside as he lit up a cigarette.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian felt like an ass. He didn’t know why he’d made that whole parasite comment. God knew Mickey could be an asshole, but to suggest that had been a shitty move on Ian’s part. Especially after all the bullshit the other man had had to deal with since bringing Ian home to take care of him. Not once had Mickey complained about how much this situation was costing him, not only in terms of his bank account, but also how much it was probably fucking with his head.

Plus, cleaning up someone else’s puke was never fun.

Gearing up to go outside to apologise, Ian wondered why Mickey was putting up with this, why Mickey hadn’t told him to fuck off. He knew that the other man had said he wanted them to be friends, but most people would’ve taken Ian’s head off after he’d basically spat on their offer of a celebration.

Stepping out into the cold, he gave a little shiver. All he was wearing was a pair of socks; the sweat pants Mickey’d bought him the other day; and a t-shirt. He ignored his discomfort, focusing instead on the man in front of him.

Mickey was resting his elbows on the railing a few feet away from the apartment door. His head was bowed, and his shoulders were slumped in defeat.

Hating to see Mickey like that, frustrated with his own responses to the other man’s overtures, Ian stepped up beside him. Wordlessly, he held his hand out for the cigarette.

Mickey handed the thing to him without comment, and they stood there like that for a while, passing it back and forth between them. It was only once they’d finished the cigarette off that Ian spoke.

“There a reason you’re not callin’ me out when I act like a dick?”

Mickey shrugged again, carefully avoiding eye contact. “Karma’s a bitch.”

“You’re hoping I get bad Karma?” Ian asked in bemusement.

“Not talkin’ ‘bout yours, man.          

Ian stared at the man beside him for a second before Mickey’s meaning sank in.

“Are you serious?” Ian snapped before he could stop himself.

Another of those shrugs; if Mickey did that to him on more time, Ian was gonna hit him. Again.

“I don’t know what pisses me off more, you thinkin’ that you have to pull back in a fight, or you actin’ the goddamn martyr for shit that happened years ago.”

Mickey finally turned to look at him.

“You gonna tell me that me gettin’ married wasn’t the reason you left?” he asked.

“You know it was!” Ian burst out. “I was so fuckin’ pissed at you for just... pretending that you having a wife didn’t matter. Like I’d be okay with bein’ your dirty secret while you let your dad control you.” Ian gave an angry shake of his head. “But my leavin’ isn’t on you. That was my decision.”

Mickey didn’t respond, and Ian could tell that the other man didn’t believe him. He wanted to say more when he suddenly realised that the tips of his fingers and toes were numb.

“It’s freezing out here,” he muttered with a little shiver.

Mickey turned to look at him, this time seeming to notice how Ian was dressed. He swore.

“Course you’re cold, asshole. Christ, are you tryin’ to kill yourself? Get your ass back inside.”

With that, Mickey began chivvying him back into the apartment. Ian had to bite back a grin at watching the other man play mother hen; he held his hands up in surrender as Mickey closed the door behind them.

Except, instead of appeasing the other man, Mickey’s scowl just deepened. His attention was focused on Ian’s fingers. Reaching out, Mickey gripped Ian’s hands, letting out another vehement curse as he felt how cold they were. Without a second’s hesitation, Mickey began rubbing one of Ian’s hands between both of his, trying to warm them up.

Feeling those strong, calloused hands gripping his had Ian’s breath catching in his chest. He almost pulled away, would’ve if it hadn’t felt so good. Not knowing why Mickey’s actions were getting to him, Ian struggled to pull himself together.

It took a few seconds before Ian realised what it was about Mickey doing this that unsettled him: this small gesture was more than anything they’d shared back when they were... doing whatever the hell it was they were doing back when they were teenagers. Mickey’d spent most of that time being so careful not to touch him any more than strictly necessary. While his ‘get some, get gone’ attitude hadn’t lasted long, he’d always tried to keep a healthy distance between them.

Emotions all over the place, Ian gently extracted his hand from Mickey’s grip.

“You change your mind about going out tonight?” he asked, hoping that the other man wouldn’t take his withdrawal as a rejection.

Mickey’s arms had fallen limply to his sides, but his tone was casual when he replied.    

“I’m game if you are.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They arrived at the movie theatre, and checked what was showing. Mickey didn’t bother hiding his grimace when he spotted the fifth _Expendables_ movie. The first one had been bad enough, but then they’d had to add to it by making _four fuckin’ more_ of the damn things _._

Ian hadn’t noticed Mickey’s expression. His eyes had settled on the line up of grim faced men before he turned to Mickey in excitement.

“Can we watch that?” Ian asked, his enthusiasm making Mickey wince.

“You, uh... you didn’t watch any of ‘em? At all? Ever?”

“Never really got round to it,” Ian replied causally. “But, come on. They got Stallone and Gibson. There is no way it could go wrong.”

Resisting the urge to correct the redhead, Mickey walked up to the ticket booth, and resigned himself for the agony that was sure to follow.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two and a half hours later, Ian came out of the theatre in a daze. Wow. That was just... he’d never known that anything could be that _bad._ Waiting until they’d cleared the doors, Ian turned accusingly to the man walking beside him.

“You could’ve warned me.” 

Mickey looked like he was fighting back a laugh. The entire duration of the movie had had the other man snickering at the plot line, and the aging actors. Ian’d been too horror-struck to see the humour in what was happening on-screen.

“But they had Stallone and Gibson,” Mickey replied seriously. “I mean, how could they’ve gone wrong, right?” His sombre tone quickly turned to laughter as he dodged the elbow Ian aimed at his ribs.

Ian felt an answering smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re a dick,” he told the other man as they emerged onto the street.

“Oh, yeah?”

Mickey reached out to poke that ticklish spot just under Ian’s ribs. Yelping, Ian stumbled away from him, grin widening, when he almost bumped into someone. Quickly straightening himself, he turned to apologise. His gaze fell on a young man with a buzz cut and crutches, the bottom of his right leg missing.

It took Ian a moment to find his voice.

“Shit, I’m sorry, man.”

The guy gave him a tight smile, acknowledging his apology with a curt nod before he moved away.

Ian stared after the soldier, a sudden heaviness having settled on his chest. A gentle hand on his shoulder broke him out of his reverie.

“Gallagher, you okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered distantly, his attention still on the soldier’s retreating figure.

Mickey was suddenly in front of him, blocking his view.

“Ian!”

“What?” Ian asked, blinking rapidly. Eyes darting around, he noticed that they were blocking the exit, and people were staring to get pissy. But that wasn’t what had the scowl on Mickey’s face; his attention was focused solely on Ian, his concern evident.

“Move outta the way!” someone shouted.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” Mickey retorted, glaring over his shoulder at whoever was yelling.

Turning back to Ian, Mickey reached up to cup his face. That touch yanked Ian out of the fog he’d been in, brought his gaze down to meet Mickey’s.

“Talk to me,” Mickey murmured. “What’s goin’ on?”

“That could’ve been me,” Ian whispered back.

The crowd was now moving around them, jostling them on occasion as people brushed by impatiently. Mickey opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by an angry voice.

“Bunch o’ fuckin’ faggots!” the voice boomed a moment before a hard shoulder knocked into Ian, sending him to the ground.


	14. What's Wrong with You is Good for What's Wrong with Me

In that instant, Mickey saw red, fury clawing its way through him to the point where his hands were shaking. He’d been willing to let the whole faggot thing go; his focus was on Ian, on what was going through the other man’s head, so he didn’t much give a shit about the throwaway comment from some fuck face stranger.

All that changed when the cunt knocked Ian to the ground.

Mickey found himself torn. Instinct was screaming at him to go teach that piece of shit some manners, while the tiny part of his brain that was still rational told him to go get Ian up. The internal debate seemed to last a long time, but it could only have been a couple of seconds.

The anger won out. Taking one step, another, Mickey followed the son of a bitch, his only thought to lash out.

“Mick!”       

He froze at the sound of his name being called. Focusing on that familiar voice, Mickey managed to drag his gaze away from where the guy who’d shoved Ian was disappearing, and focused instead on the redhead. Still on the floor, Ian had sat up, but he was cradling his arm to his chest. His need to make sure the other man was okay overrode all else, and Mickey hurried over to crouch beside Ian.

“You okay?” he asked in concern, his eyes roving over Ian’s body to check if he’d been hurt anywhere else.

“Yeah, I just... landed on my wrist weird” the redhead replied, wincing a little. “You mind if we go home?”

“D’you need to go to the hospital to get it checked out?” He took Ian’s good arm and wrapped it around his shoulders while starting to wrap his arm around Ian’s waist. “C’mon, let’s go,” Mickey continued without waiting for a response.

“Mick, stop,” Ian said loudly.

The words caused Mickey to freeze immediately. Letting go of the redhead, Mickey turned to look at him.

“Shit, am I hurtin’ you?”

“Would you calm down?” Ian grumbled. His exasperated gaze moved past Mickey to take in what was going on behind them. “Great, we’ve got an audience,” he muttered.

Mickey cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see that they had managed to attract the attention of a few curious bystanders. Ignoring them, he turned back to Ian to find the other man attempting to stand up.

“Gallagher, what the hell—”

“Mick, I can get up by myself. And I don’t need the hospital, just some ice.” Ian met his gaze and some of the aggravation seemed to drain out of him. “Seriously, I’m fine,” he continued more gently.

“But... you called me back,” Mickey said slowly. “I thought the asshole’d hurt you.”

“You’re doin’ it again,” Ian sighed tiredly. He began heading back in the direction of the apartment.

“What?” Mickey asked defensively, hurrying to catch up to the other man.

“Treatin’ me like I’m made of glass,” the redhead replied. “I went through, like, three months of basic training, and years on the street; trust me, that asshole pushin’ me barely registered. I just wanted to keep you from goin’ postal.”

Mickey chose to ignore that last bit, focusing instead on Ian’s comment about his time in the military. It was the first time the other man had willingly offered information about the any of the time he’d been away.

They walked a few blocks before Mickey built up the courage to ask. He didn’t wanna piss Ian off again, but he needed to know.

“So you really went through with it?” he asked cautiously. A small, naive part of him had hoped that Ian’d just been saying it to get a rise out of him, that Ian hadn’t actually been serious.

“With what?” Ian asked as they crossed the road.

“The whole enlisting thing.”

Pausing in the middle of the quiet street, Ian turned to look at him.

“You didn’t think I’d do it?”

“Was hopin’ you wouldn’t. Or that one of those fuckin’ army guys’d find out you weren’t eighteen and send you back home, or somethin’,” Mickey mumbled in reply.

“Took Lip’s ID, made a fake one with his details,” Ian explained with a shrug. He started walking again.

“What, your brother was okay with that?” Mickey asked, outraged.

“He didn’t know,” Ian replied tersely. “I swiped it.”

Ian’s tone made it clear that he didn’t wanna talk about it; Mickey told himself to shut up, to leave it alone. He managed to hold it in, bite back the questions until they reached the apartment building. Leaning back against his front door, Mickey watched the redhead shrug out of his jacket, and tried to strangle the words on the edge of his tongue.

“What was it like?” he finally blurted out.

Ian stopped in the middle of toeing his shoes off. He ducked his head, staying quiet for so long that Mickey didn’t think that the other man was gonna answer.

“Y’know what, it’s cool. Never mind,” Mickey began.

“I felt suffocated,” Ian interrupted. “I thought I’d be okay, that it wasn’t such a major step away from ROTC.” Here he hesitated, his eyes seeming to look through Mickey. “Didn’t stay long. I bailed just before I completed my basic training.”

Mickey stared at him, the implications of Ian’s words sinking in.

“But... if you didn’t stay there, where’d you go?” he asked hoarsely.

Ian gave a jerky little shrug.

“Stayed at Ned’s for a couple weeks. Partying got a little too wild, so he asked me to leave. I kinda drifted for a while after that, started hanging out with people who were into the club scene.”

_Jesus Christ_ , Mickey thought bleakly. _Ian’d been in Chicago, so_ fuckin’ close _._

Not knowing how to deal with that, all he wanted to do was end this conversation, even though he’d been the one askin’ the fuckin’ questions. Abruptly, Mickey cleared his throat, broke eye contact with the other man.

“I, uh... I gotta shower,” he said, brushing past Ian.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian didn’t try to stop Mickey from walking away. He couldn’t believe he’d opened up as much as he had. After seeing the other man’s reaction, Ian was glad he hadn’t elaborated, hadn’t mentioned what’d come after he’d left Ned’s place.

Shaken from rehashing the past, Ian moved mechanically through Mickey’s apartment. He opened the freezer, pulling out that same bag of frozen peas to hold it against his arm. Desperately seeking a distraction from the memories, he sank down onto the piece of shit couch, and flipped on the tv. Over the sound of the talk show host’s senseless chatter, Ian could hear the shower come on.

Staring unseeingly at the screen, memories of nights spent with nameless strangers, sometimes for a couple of bucks and other times just to be close to another body, ran through his head. Hard hands and uncaring touches, followed by having to watch people hurriedly walk away.

Ian didn’t know what made him do it, but he was swiftly getting up off the couch, dumping the peas, and heading down the hallway. Without stopping to think, he shoved open the bathroom door.

“Shit, Gallagher!” Mickey yelped at his sudden appearance. The other man quickly reached for a towel to cover himself.

“I-I know that you-you said that you don’t want sex,” Ian stammered. “And I get that, but I just... I need...” He trailed off, frustration eating at him. There was a moment of silence.

“Ian, talk to me.”

Mickey had stopped what he was doing, concentrating on Ian. Feeling those blue eyes focused on him steadied Ian a little. Taking a deep breath, he continued.

“I just-I just need you to hold me... for a few minutes. Please.” All Ian wanted in that moment was to be held like he mattered, to feel like he was more than just a convenient warm body. Just for a few minutes.

The other man didn’t hesitate. “Get in,” he said, making room for Ian in the shower.

Stripping down until he was in his underwear, Ian suddenly paused. He hadn’t asked Mickey if this was okay, hadn’t considered if the other man was comfortable with this. Hesitantly, he looked up to meet Mickey’s eyes again.

“Is this okay? ‘Cause you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” Mickey interrupted softly. “Get in before the hot water runs out.”

Deciding to take Mickey at his word, Ian removed the last of his clothing, and stepped into the shower. The feel of the warm spray on his skin made him realise how cold he’d been. He stood there for a moment, shuddering as the heat spread through him. But it wasn’t enough; he needed contact.

Before Ian could say anything, Mickey’s arms were sliding around him, pulling him close. Hands that were rough and calloused caressed his back, and Ian felt as though those light, gentle touches were all that was holding him together.

Any thoughts of pride had evaporated as Ian wrapped his arms around the other man, burying his face at the crook of Mickey’s shoulder. He tried to hold onto the feeling that he was safe, pretended that he’d always be able to rely on Mickey like this. Unable to stop himself, Ian felt a sob break free.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Holding onto Ian’s still too-thin body, Mickey fought back a swell of anger. In that moment, he hated every single person who’d ever hurt Ian, himself included. Mickey felt so goddamn helpless, feeling the redhead being wracked with sobs, and all Mickey could do was hold onto him.

He barely noticed when the water began to cool, but he felt it when Ian started to shiver.

“C’mon, let’s get some sleep,” Mickey said as he began to pull away.

Ian tightened his grip, not wanting to let go.

“We’re gonna freeze our asses off if we stay like this, Gallagher.” Mickey tried to inject a teasing note into his voice in an attempt to persuade Ian to get out of the shower. When that didn’t help, Mickey spoke more softly. “Ian, I’ll hold you all night, if you want. Let’s just get outta here, and get to bed, okay?”

It took a minute, but Ian finally moved away, his face averted. The redhead stepped out of the shower, leaving Mickey to shut off the water. He did so quickly, climbing out after Ian.

The other man dried himself off with rough hands, still carefully avoiding looking at Mickey. When he was done, Ian left the bathroom, turning towards the living room rather than the bedroom.

“Gallagher, where you goin’?” Mickey asked, surprise making his voice harsher than he’d intended.

He thought he saw Ian flinch, before the redhead attempted a casual shrug.

“Don’t know how much sleep I’m gonna get tonight,” he replied. “No point keepin’ you up, too.”

Mickey felt the sharp bite of frustration as he listened to Ian try to distance himself. In that moment of holding the other man while he’d fallen apart, Mickey’d realised something: he didn’t care how long Ian had been gone, or what he’d done during those years. All that mattered was that Ian was here now, and that he needed someone to take care of him.

Even though gentleness had never been his thing, Mickey _knew_ he could be that someone.

Instead of arguing, Mickey watched as Ian walked away. Finishing up, Mickey headed to his room, pulling on a pair of boxers and a ratty t-shirt. Padding down the hallway, he entered the living room to find Ian slumped on the couch, his disinterested gaze fixed on the tv. Mickey glanced at the screen; infomercials were on, with a perky blonde singing the praises of something called... the Hula Chair.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Ian looked up sharply, as though only just noticing him standing there. “Thought you were goin’ to bed,” he mumbled. He focused his attention back on the tv.

“Nah. Figured I’d stay up for a bit.” Mickey parked next to Ian, picking up the remote. “Is this seriously all there is to watch?”

“It was that or porn,” Ian replied listlessly.

“And you’d rather watch _this_?”

“Too much vagina to really do it for me.”

“Fair enough,” Mickey conceded. He watched the tv for a few seconds before deciding that this wasn’t working for him. “You wanna watch a movie?”

“We watched one a few hours ago,” Ian pointed out without looking at him.

“Or we could play _Grand Theft Auto_. I still got the x-box Iggy stole.” He stared at the other man expectantly, only to get no goddamn response. “C’mon, Gallagher, tell me what you want.”

“I want you to leave me alone,” Ian whispered.

That took Mickey aback for a second. “Not gonna happen,” he responded after a while.

“Why ask me what I want if you’re just gonna ignore me?” Ian asked flatly.

Mickey didn’t know what to say. He swallowed hard before he answered.

“Don’t think you should be alone right now, is all.”

“What, now you wanna act like you fuckin’ care? You’re a couple years late,” Ian snapped.

Mickey’s first instinct was to snap back, but he forced it down. Turning in his seat, he studied Ian’s profile intently. The light from the tv showed that the other man’s eyes were puffy, and his jaw was clenched tightly. Ian looked like he was barely holding it together.

Instead of trying to argue that he’d _always_ fuckin’ cared, no matter what it’d looked like, Mickey just reached out to take hold of Ian’s hand. The redhead stiffened for a moment, but he didn’t pull away. Mickey turned his attention back to the tv, now featuring the Bright Eyes Blanket.

“That’s fuckin’ creepy,” Mickey commented as they showed the things glowing in the dark. “Maybe I should get Yev one.”

He heard a choked sound from beside him. Quickly glancing over at Ian, he saw that the other man was shaking with soundless laughter. A reluctant grin tugged at Mickey’s lips, and before long, he was snickering. He didn’t know how long they sat there like that, but when Mickey looked up again, he saw that Ian had stopped laughing. Instead, tears were trailing down his face, and his entire body was quaking from the force of his sobs.

Again, Mickey was assaulted by a feeling of helplessness.

Scooting closer to Ian on the couch, he gathered the redhead to his chest, rocking him gently.

“I’m sorry,” Mickey whispered. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the song Friends and Lovers by Incubus. It is my ultimate Mickey x Ian song. You guys should give it a listen. It gives me all sorts of feelings.


	15. The Little Stranger

The next few days were kinda weird. Ian was quiet; not the quiet that came from being pissed off, but the quiet that came from thinking too much. Mickey wanted to snap him out of it, but he had no fuckin’ idea how. He’d called to ask Mandy about it, but she hadn’t been all that helpful.

“Just give him some time,” Mandy advised.

“Seriously? That’s all you got?” Mickey’d asked incredulously.

“Jesus, what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me how to make him feel better!” Mickey shouted.

The silence on the other end of the line made him wanna kick himself. He drew in a deep breath before exhaling carefully.

“I’m sorry,” he’d finally muttered. “I just dunno what to do.”

That had been the day after Ian’s breakdown, so it was probably too early to be worried. Still, seeing the redhead like that had hurt. And knowing that there was fuck all he could do about it, that he’d been the one to start this shit, just pissed him off so bad he could barely think straight.

Friday afternoon was busy at the construction site. The project they were working on was a big one, furthering the gentrification process by putting up a mall. While the idea of all those yuppies running around the neighbourhood made Mickey cringe, he knew he couldn’t be picky about the work.

So he’d taken his lunch hour later than usual. Greg had given him shit about it, but Mickey needed to make sure Gallagher was okay. He was heading down to the Kash and Grab when his phone rang.

Glancing down at the unfamiliar number, he took the call with a brusque “Who the fuck is this?”

“You always answer your phone this way?” a familiar accented voice asked.

“Lana?” Mickey asked in surprise. That surprise quickly morphed into concern. He could only think of one reason why his ex would contact him. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Is Yev okay?”

“I need you to watch him for weekend,” Svetlana told him without preamble.

“What? Why?”

“Nika and I are going to wedding. Babysitter cancelled at last minute, so you must take care of him.”

Mickey stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, trying to figure out how he was supposed to get this to work out. But Lana took his silence as unwillingness, and soon she was sneering in his ear.

“I knew it,” she said coldly. “You are still same piece of shit—”

“Hold the fuck up,” Mickey snapped. He tried to calm down, knowing he had to be careful. To say that Svetlana had reservations about him seeing his son would be a goddamn understatement, and mouthing off would only piss her off.

“Where is he?” he asked when he could be sure that he wouldn’t yell.

“Still at school.”        

“Give me the address, I’ll pick him up.”

Lana rattled off the address, and Mickey quickly hung up before she could she could bitch at him some more.

Instead of continuing on to the Kash and Grab, Mickey took a detour, heading to the school that was only a few blocks away. While he was walking, he wondered what the hell he was gonna do with the kid. There was no way he could take Yev to the construction site, and leaving him alone at the apartment would make Mickey a negligent fuck. And that left him with only one option.

_Shit_.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian was distracted. He’d started working at the Kash and Grab on Wednesday, after Linda had read him the riot act.

“You are to be on time,” she’d said sternly. “And I won’t tolerate you flaking out on me, understand? You step out of line, even once, and you’re fired. Are we clear?”

So, Ian was trying his best to be as attentive as possible, at least until Linda stopped breathing down his neck. And he’d been doing a pretty good job of it until just now. Until he’d realised that it was one thirty, and Mickey still hadn’t shown up at the Kash and Grab.

It was stupid, but Ian had started to expect those lunchtime visits, even as they kinda pissed him off. In his less charitable moments, he’d seen it as Mickey coming to check on him to make sure he hadn’t relapsed.

But it was nice, too, knowing that someone cared enough to check.

Except, Mickey wasn’t here, and Ian couldn’t help feeling a little... deflated.

Ian got up from his spot behind the register, deciding to get back to work since it didn’t seem like Mickey was gonna show up. He’d barely come around the counter when the front door opened, the little bell jingling. Glancing up, Ian saw Mickey coming in, and felt a burst of relief. Until he spotted the little figure behind the other man.

The kid was holding onto Mickey’s hand, looking around the store with wide, curious eyes. Yevgeny Milkovich was the spitting image of his father, right down to the way he walked. Ian stared at the boy for a second, before turning to Mickey accusingly.

Only, the other man wasn’t paying any attention to him. He was shrugging off the backpack he’d had slung over his shoulder, crouching down in front of his son.

“You hungry?” Mickey asked the kid in a low voice.

Yev nodded.

“Go get somethin’,” Mickey said, jerking his head in the direction of the food aisles. As soon as the little boy was out of earshot, Mickey turned to Ian with a pleading expression.

“I need you to watch him for a few hours.”

Ian gaped at the other man, disbelief coursing through him. Mickey had _not_ just asked him to babysit his love child.

“What?” he finally forced out, hoping that he’d heard Mickey wrong.

“Gallagher, c’mon. I wouldn’t be askin’ you to do this if I had another option.”

“Why can’t you take him to work with you?” Ian muttered, keeping his voice low so the boy wouldn’t hear him.

“I can’t take a little kid to a fuckin’ construction site; Greg would shit his pants.”

“What about his mother? What’s she doin’ that she can’t take care of him?” Ian knew he sounded like an asshole, but he didn’t know if he could do this. Yev looked so much like his father, and that brought back too many memories.

“She’s goin’ to a weddin’, and the baby sitter bailed. Look, I know it’s a last minute thing, but I need your help.”

“Dad?”

The little voice broke in before Ian could answer. He glanced over at Yev, saw that the boy was looking between him and Mickey uncertainly. Ian also noticed the faint bruising along the kid’s cheekbone, something he’d missed when the two Milkoviches had walked in earlier; that was what decided it for him.

“He can stay.”

“Thanks,” Mickey whispered, quickly reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. He then turned to his son.

“Yev, this is Ian. He’s gonna watch you while I’m at work. I need you to be good for him, okay?” The kid didn’t answer, just continued to stare at his father. “It’ll only be a couple hours, I promise. Then we can have pizza for dinner, or somethin’. That sound okay?”

“Mama says pizza’s bad for you,” Yev mumbled.

“Yeah, well, what your mom don’t know won’t hurt her. We’ll have some fun this weekend, alright?” Mickey reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair gently before turning back to Ian.

“I’ll pay for anything he needs when I get back.” With that, he began heading for the exit.

“You’re leaving already?” Ian asked in barely concealed panic. “Don’t you wanna make sure he’s settled in?” he hissed as he followed Mickey to the door.

“Shit’s crazy at work, we’re running behind on that stupid goddamn mall. I’m late, Greg’s gonna dock my pay.” Mickey glanced at him over his shoulder, paused when he saw the look on Ian’s face.

“Look, he’s a good kid,” he murmured. “You’ll be fine.”

Then Mickey left the store, leaving Ian alone with the little stranger.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Drawing on his experiences with his younger siblings, Ian tried keep his expression friendly as he turned to Yev. The little boy was eyeing him warily, clutching his backpack to his chest. Ian noted with faint amusement that the thing was nearly twice as wide as the child holding it.

“You find anything you wanted to eat?” he asked, ducking down a little so he was closer to Yev’s eyelevel.

The kid gave a shrug. Not a big talker from the looks of it; another thing he’d likely inherited from his father.

“Uh, how about a burrito? I can heat one up for you, if you wanted. Or a bagel,” Ian suggested.

A silent shake of the head was all he got in answer.

Okay, this wasn’t working. Ian needed the kid to eat something; the last thing he wanted was Mickey to accuse him of not taking care of his son. Drawing on his reserves of patience, Ian tried to keep his tone light.

“I know, why don’t you look around some more, and let me know if you find anything.” Ian turned around, planning to give Yev the space he needed to explore the store on his own.

“The shelves are too high.” The disgruntled words came from behind him, and Ian had to keep his back to the little boy to hide his grin. Only when he’d managed to school his features into a serious expression did Ian turn around.

“You need some help?” he asked evenly.

Yev shuffled his feet for a second before giving a reluctant nod.

“Okay, let’s see what we got,” Ian said, gesturing for the kid to follow him.

They wondered up and down the aisles, Ian reaching up for the stuff the kid couldn’t reach, holding them for his inspection.

“How about a sandwich? No? Okay... we’ve got spaghetti, if you want.”

The little boy doubtfully eyed the tin Ian was holding up. “I won’t be able to finish that by myself,” Yev said softly.

“No problem; we’ll split it. That okay with you?”

Once the kid had nodded his assent, Ian headed to the back room to heat the food up, putting Yev’s portion on a plastic plate, and keeping his in the tin. He came back to find that the little boy had heaved himself up onto the counter. Sitting there with his legs crossed, Yev watched Ian intently as they ate.

“You got something on your mind, kiddo?” he finally asked.

The kid set his plate aside, his serious expression offset by the flecks of sauce at the corners of his mouth. Again, Ian found himself biting back a smile.

“Are you Orange Boy?” Yev asked seriously.

“Uh... I don’t know?” he answered, staring at the boy in confusion.

“You’ve got orange hair,” Yev pointed out. “And mama said that dad drank a lot ‘cause he was sad ‘bout Orange Boy leaving.”

Ian didn’t know how to respond to that. The kid gazed at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer.

“I left a couple of years ago,” Ian said slowly, “but I’m not sure that’s why your dad started drinking.”

Yev accepted this with a nod, picking up his plate without further comment.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ian knew he was pushing his luck, but those bruises on the kid’s face were pissing him off; they reminded him of the ones he used to see on Mickey.

“I guess,” the little boy answered guardedly.

“What happened here?” Ian asked cautiously, touching on his own face to indicate what he was talking about.

Yev ducked his head. “Are you gonna swear?” he asked without looking up.

“I’ll try not to.”

“Dad did.” Still not making eye contact, the kid finally answered with a sigh. “The kids at school were pushing me around a little. I didn’t run fast enough.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ian said, horrified that Yev was already running away from bullies. He wasn’t even seven yet.

“Dunno how he’s gonna help,” the little boy muttered.

The words caused Ian to give a startled laugh.

“Dad said he’d show me how to punch,” Yev continued after giving him a dark look. “Said we’d tried it mama’s way, and it isn’t working.”

“Has your mom talked to your teachers, asked them about it?” Ian asked gently.

“Mama’s work nights, so she can’t always be at parent’s evening,” Yev answered, again averting his face.

Before Ian could think of some way to respond, the door to the Kash and Grab opened with a cheerful jingle. The kid used Ian’s momentary distraction to scoot to the edge of the counter, and jump off. Hurrying over to his backpack, Yev picked it up, rummaged through it, and pulled out a brightly coloured book.

Ian watched as the kid flicked through the pages before he settled down on the floor, leaning his back against a bag of charcoal. Ignoring Ian, Yev kept his head down for the rest of the afternoon.


	16. Like Sugar and Cyanide

Mickey arrived at the Kash and Grab just before five thirty. He’d hauled ass to get there, wanting to spare Ian and Yev from having to wait for him, or having to have the conversation of whether the kid should go home with Ian.

Stepping inside the store, Mickey saw the redhead behind the counter, ringing up some stuff for a harried looking woman with one rowdy brat hanging from each arm. His eyes scanned the front of the store, looking for his own kid. Except, Yev wasn’t there.

Mickey felt a sharp pang of worry.      

“Where’s Yev?” Mickey asked as soon as the soccer mom stepped away from the counter.

“Hi, Mick, how was your day?” Ian asked in a falsely cheerful voice. He rolled his eyes when Mickey glared at him. “Relax, he’s in the back room.”

“The fuck’s he doin’ in there?” Mickey demanded. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Shit, was he givin’ you a hard time? ‘Cause I thought—”

“What? No!” Ian heaved an impatient sigh. “He’s back there reading. He tried to do it out here, but customers kept tryin’ to talk to him. Your kid’s not much of a people person.” That last bit was said with a barely concealed grin.

Fighting back his own smirk, Mickey headed past the counter towards the break room. Yev was leaning against the back wall, a book held in front of his face.

“What you readin’?” he asked, sliding down the wall to sit beside his son. Yev carefully marked the page he was on before looking up at him.

“ _The Secret Zoo_ ,” he said, showing Mickey the cover.

“Any good?” Mickey grinned down at the kid, proud that Yev was smart enough to be reading by himself. At that age, Mickey had been too busy getting into shit and dodging Terry to think about picking up a book.

“Uh-huh. Megan’s gone missing, an’ the monkeys are actin’ weird. Noah—that’s Megan’s brother—is just about to go lookin’ for her.”

“Sounds like excitin’ stuff.” Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey spotted Ian standing at the break room’s entrance. “Listen, how ‘bout we read this tonight, before you go to bed, huh? I wanna hear more about the weird monkeys.”

Yev gave him a considering look before finally nodding his agreement. Getting up off the floor, Mickey watched as the little boy carefully put the book in his backpack. Once Yev was ready, Mickey took the bag from the kid, swinging it over his shoulder. Then Yev did something that completely floored him.

The kid trustingly reached out for Mickey’s hand.

That little gesture, the automatic way Yev reached out for him, it did something to Mickey. A fierce sense of protectiveness swelled inside him, along with an almost crippling guilt that he’d been away from his son for so long.

Swallowing down the surge of emotion, Mickey glanced up to find Ian staring at them, his expression unreadable.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk home was uneventful. Yev stared around him curiously as they headed into the shittier part of their shitty neighbourhood. Mickey was careful to steer the little boy away from where drug deals and fights were going down. Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey also noticed that Ian had taken a protective stance beside Yev; he scowled at when anyone got too close, watching them suspiciously until they’d passed.

They’d just walked past a couple of gangbangers before the kid spoke.

“Are you coming with us?” he asked Ian.

“Uh, yeah,” the other man answered in surprise.

“How come?” The kid didn’t sound mad or sulky, or anything, just curious.

“Ian lives with me,” Mickey answered, sensing that Ian’d gotten uncomfortable with this line of questioning.

“Like Nika lives with mama?”

Mickey’d had no idea that Svetlana had a roommate, but he nodded gamely anyway. “Exactly like that.”

“Oh.”

That easily, Yev dropped the subject.

“You got a change of clothes?” Mickey asked, walking around the row of hookers waiting to be picked up. Hopefully this would keep the kid distracted, helping them avoid the more difficult topics.

“Uh-huh. Mama told me to pack some stuff.”

“She knew you were stayin’ over tonight?” Mickey asked, brows raised.

“No, but she thought it’d be good to pack just in case.”

Mickey didn’t know if he should be pissed off at Lana for just _assuming_ that he’d be able to keep the kid for the weekend, or if he was glad that she seemed to trust him to take care of Yev that long.

Shrugging off the matter for now, Mickey abruptly noticed how quiet the man walking alongside them had become.

“You okay?” he asked Ian, temporarily shifting his attention away from his kid.

Ian gave him a small smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Mickey wasn’t sure he believed the other man, but decided not to push it in front of Yev. Instead, he refocused on his son, asking questions about what Yev felt like doing tonight. All the while, he was conscious of the silent presence on the kid’s other side.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of all the experiences Ian’d had since coming back to the South Side, this had to be the most surreal. He, Mickey, and Yev had ordered in pizza, and spent most of the night watching cartoons. They’d gone old school, managing to find a channel that still aired original _Loony Tunes_ episodes.

Turned out the little boy had his father’s warped sense of humour. Ian’s lips quirked in a smile as he remembered the sound of Mickey and Yev’s laughter. It’d seemed so... innocent that, in that moment, Ian had felt like an intruder. Until Mickey had glanced over the kid’s head to wink at him.

And for the next hour, Ian allowed himself to entertain the _stupid_ , fucked up fantasy that this was his version of normal.

The sound of splashing shook Ian out of his reverie. Mickey was supervising bath time and, as it turned out, under Yev’s quiet facade lurked a live wire. The torrent of giggles coming from the bathroom had him getting up to investigate.

Leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, Ian arrived just in time to see Mickey rocking back on his heels, blinking water out of his eyes; Yev was sitting in the tub, grinning.

“You’re gonna regret that,” Mickey said in a hard voice.

That quickly the little boy’s smile disappeared. Stretching his hand out toward the bath, Mickey put his hand in the water... and splashed the kid in the face.

“Hey!” Yev sputtered with a laugh.

A snickering Mickey glanced over his shoulder and caught Ian’s eyes. They stared at one another for a few seconds before Mickey looked away, shifting self-consciously.

“C’mon, kid,” Mickey said, getting up from his crouch beside the tub. “You’re gonna look like a prune if you don’t get outta there soon.”

Ian left them to it, heading back into the living room. He paused before he was halfway there, though, and then hurriedly turned back.

“Uh, Mick?”

“Yeah?” Mickey glanced up from where he was wrapping Yev in a towel.

“Sleeping situation?”

“Shit,” Mickey muttered. Turning back to the kid, he asked “You gonna be okay finishing up here?”

“Uh-huh.”

Mickey came out into the hallway, pulling off his wet t-shirt. Ian did his best not to stare.

“I got some sheets an’ stuff; we can make up the couch for him.”

“You sure?” Ian asked uncertainly. “Maybe he should share the bed with you.”

“What? Why?” Mickey gave him a bemused look.

“I don’t know. D’you really want Yev to see you in bed with another dude?” Ian kept his voice low so the kid didn’t overhear them.

“Look, Gallagher...” Mickey trailed off. He took a deep breath before speaking slowly and deliberately. “I’m gay. And if Lana’s gonna let me do... dad things... Yev’s gonna have to know. Might as well let it happen now.”

With that, Mickey headed into his room for the sheets.

A few minutes later, they were busy making up the couch, trying to make the thing as comfortable as possible.

“Seems like child abuse to let the kid sleep on this damn thing,” Ian muttered, stepping back to check out their handiwork. They hadn’t done too good a job.

Mickey gave a little grunt of agreement. “Thinkin’ about gettin’ one of those fold out couches.”

Ian was about to reply when he noticed Yev out of the corner of his eye. The little boy had been watching them work, a teddy bear clutched under one arm, his book held in his other hand. He was wearing a pair of _Superman_ pyjamas. Barely suppressing a smile, Ian stepped aside to gesture at the couch.

“What d’you think? You gonna be okay to sleep here?” he asked the kid.

Yev nodded, moving further into the room until he was standing beside Mickey.

Glancing up, Ian saw the other man staring at the bear Yev was holding onto. Mickey noticed that he’d gained Ian’s attention, and seemed to shake himself back to attention.

“You brush your teeth?” Mickey reached out to ruffle the kid’s hair.

“Yup.” Yev hesitated for a second, shifting in place uncertainly.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Ian frowned at Yev’s sudden nervousness. He’d been fine earlier.

The little boy didn’t answer, ducking his head to keep from meeting either Mickey or Ian’s eyes. _Now there’s a familiar avoidance tactic_ , Ian thought dryly. Remembering all the times he’d had to contend with Mickey’s refusal to look at him, Ian ducked down so he’d be at Yev’s eyelevel.

“Talk to us,” he said gently.

Finally, Yev looked up. He was biting on his bottom lip, another habit the kid shared with Mickey.

“Will-will you read to me?” Yev asked shyly, looking between his father and Ian. “It’s just... when mama and Nika come home, they’re too tired,” he explained.

“Course,” Mickey answered, joining Ian in his crouch in front of the little boy. “We’ll read the whole book if you want.”

That earned them a bright smile before Yev scrambled up onto the couch, the bear tucked close to his side. They joined the kid, sitting on either side of him. Reaching out, Mickey plucked the book out of Yev’s hands, opened up at the bookmarked page, and began to read.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As it turned out, Mickey didn’t need to finish the book. A couple of pages in and Yev had passed out against Ian, his breathing deep and even. Mickey’d enjoyed the time he’d gotten to spend with the kid, but he was glad Yev had fallen asleep. While Mickey was reading, trying to do all the stupid voices, he’d felt Ian’s gaze on him. It’d made him self-conscious, and while he’d done his damnedest to ignore the redhead, Mickey couldn’t help but give a sigh of relief.

He got off the couch quickly, gently sliding his hands under Yev’s arms to lift him off Ian. As soon as the other man was up, Mickey lowered the kid back onto the couch. He’d just stepped back to reach for the blanket, but Ian beat him to it. Seeing the redhead covering the little boy made Mickey’s chest feel tight. Backing up before he could embarrass himself, he muttered that he was going to go shower before hastily leaving the room.

“You’re good with him,” Ian commented when they got into bed a little while later. Mickey could feel the redhead’s gaze on him, and it made him feel vaguely uncomfortable.

“So are you,” he replied, shrugging off the compliment.

“Yeah, but I had younger siblings to deal with when I was growing up. I didn’t think you’d had much experience with kids.”

“Don’t,” Mickey muttered.

“So, like I said; you did good.”

Mickey wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Sure, they’d had a good afternoon, but that didn’t come close to makin’ up for all the years he’d been absent from Yev’s life. But Gallagher’d had a point: he did have experience with younger siblings; maybe he could help.

“I’m worried about him,” Mickey admitted, deciding to unload. He figured Ian was the only person he could talk to about this. Svetlana still wasn’t convinced that Mickey was up to the task of being a father; Mandy had grown up in the same shitty environment as him, so it wasn’t like she’d know any better.

“Yeah, I saw the bruises,” Ian said darkly.

“I’m gonna teach him to defend himself. No way some little pricks are gonna knock a Milkovich around.” Mickey scowled at the thought of his kid having to deal with bullies before he pulled it together. “But it’s not just that. I asked him ‘bout his friends and what he does durin’ recess, and he says he reads.”

“I know how you feel about reading, Mick, but it’s good that he does,” Ian said with a teasing grin.

“Fuck off, Gallagher, I know that,” Mickey snapped. Frustration clawing at him, Mickey rolled over so his back was to the other man.

There was silence between them for a few seconds. Then, Mickey felt Ian shifting on the bed, moving closer to him. A hand came to rest on Mickey’s shoulder, giving him an apologetic squeeze.

“What’s eatin’ you?” Ian murmured.

Mickey took a deep breath, trying to calm down a little. When he spoke, his voice was strained.

“I’m really proud of him, y’know? I mean, d’you get a look at that shit we were readin’ him tonight? Yev’s six, an’ he’s already readin’ at that level. He’s so goddamn smart, but... he’s got no friends.” Here Mickey’s voice broke, and he abruptly shut up to keep from revealing anymore.

Mickey barely remembered being Yev’s age. But all through his childhood, he’d had the assurance that his brothers had his back. Not necessarily because they liked each other, but because Milkoviches stuck together. Then, later, Ian had come along, and for a short while at least, Mickey’d had a friend. But Yev had no one beyond his parents, and Mickey’d only been around for a few weeks.

That touch on his shoulder moved down his arm, and Mickey could feel Ian edging closer to him. Tonight, their positions were reversed, with the other man being the one to hold onto Mickey.

“He’ll be fine,” Ian said firmly. “You’ll show him a couple of things, he’ll be more confident, and start makin’ friends before you know it.”

“You think?” Mickey asked, wanting to believe the redhead.

“Sure. He might even decide he likes kicking ass. I mean, he is a Milkovich so...” Ian trailed off innocently.

Giving a little huff of amusement at that, Mickey gently elbowed the other man in the ribs. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

“And you’re an asshole,” Ian replied with a smirk.

Mickey had to bury his face against a pillow to muffle his snickers. Against his back, he could feel Ian shaking with the force of his own quiet laughter.

As Mickey finally drifted off, he couldn’t help but wish that he could go to sleep like this every night.


	17. Hold My Hand if You're Feeling Scared

Early, _too fuckin’ early_ , Mickey awoke to an unfamiliar sound drifting through the apartment. He lay in bed, just wanting to ignore it and go back to sleep. Instead, he tried to get his bearings, to figure out where the sound was coming from. Ian was still wrapped around him, and judging by his even breathing, the other man was dead to the world.

It sounded like the noise was coming from the living room.

Mickey barely managed to suppress a groan as he remembered that his kid was sleeping on the couch. Mentally cursing himself for taking so long to figure it out, Mickey untangled himself from Ian’s long limbs. The redhead made a little sound of protest, but didn’t wake up.

Padding quietly out the room, Mickey shut the door behind him. He walked to the end of the hallway where he flipped on the light.

Yev was sitting upright, his teddy bear clutched tightly to his chest. With a jolt, Mickey realised that the sounds he’d been hearing were little whimpers coming from the back of the kid’s throat.

_Shit._

Hurrying forward, Mickey sat beside the little boy on the couch. As soon as he sat down, Yev threw his spindly arms around him. Automatically, Mickey returned the embrace, rubbing Yev’s back and making those little rocking motions he’d once seen Lana doing.

Mickey gave the kid a few minutes to calm down, allowing Yev to burrow close to him.

“You have a nightmare, or somethin’?” he asked finally, keeping up with the rocking.

Yev’s answer was muffled against Mickey’s t-shirt.

Gently, Mickey pulled the little boy away from him. “Sorry, kiddo, but I need you to speak up. What’s wrong?”

The kid scrubbed at his tearstained cheeks with his fists. Yev’s voice trembled as he answered.

“Didn’t know where I was.”

Five words, and that was all it took for Mickey to feel like a piece of shit. _Course Yev had been afraid_ , Mickey thought furiously. The kid had woken up in the dark in a strange place.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve left the light on for you.”

“Not a baby,” Yev muttered, giving Mickey a little frown.

The bravado in that answer nearly made Mickey grin. Not wanting to bruise any fledgling egos, Mickey kept his tone and expression serious.

“No, you’re not,” he agreed. “But it’s your first time stayin’ here. If I’d left the light on, you would’ve been able to look around an’ remember where you were.”

The kid seemed to have calmed down some. Mickey floundered for what to do next. Did he tell Yev to go back to sleep, or did he stay to comfort the kid some more? Warm milk was supposed to help, right?

Not knowing what else to do, Mickey turned to his son for answers.

“You wanna go back to sleep, or d’you wanna watch some tv?” he asked, looking down at Yev.

“Tv,” Yev said after a moment’s thought.

“Alright.” Mickey leaned forward on the couch to grab the remote, careful not to jostle the kid still on his lap. Turning on the tv, he quickly flipped through the channels. There wasn’t much on this late at night—or rather, this early in the morning—so Mickey eventually decided on old _South Park_ reruns. Kids were usually more interested in the pictures, right?

“This okay?” he checked, just to be sure.

“Uh-huh.”

Mickey could feel Yev settling closer, the last of the earlier tension draining out of his small body. Again, the trust that Yev showed floored Mickey; he couldn’t remember ever being as innocent as the little boy nestled against him.

Staring unseeingly at the tv screen, his arms tightened slightly around the kid. More than anything else, Mickey wanted Yev to hold onto that innocence for as long as he could.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Ian noticed when he woke up was that he needed to pee. The next thing was that he couldn’t feel Mickey next to him. Brow furrowed, Ian reached out across the bed, only to feel cool sheets.

Lifting his head, Ian looked around the bedroom blurrily. He saw that the door had been pulled closed.

Since their reconciliation after their last blowout, Ian and Mickey had been sharing the bed, and woke up most mornings wrapped around each other. It wasn’t sexual. Usually. Although, Ian would be lying if he said that he didn’t sometimes think about trailing his fingers along the pale skin exposed by Mickey’s t-shirt, or place a little kiss on the nape of Mickey’s neck.

Ian had so far resisted temptation, though. He liked what they had now, enjoyed being able to touch, and be touched, without the expectation of sex hanging over him.

Still groggy, Ian swung his legs over the side of the bed, staggering out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom. It was only after he’d relieved himself, and splashed some cold water on his face, that he heard the low murmur coming from the living room. It sounded like the tv.

Abruptly, Ian remembered that Yev had slept over last night; that was probably why Mickey was out of bed so early. Ian headed into the living room, was about to call out a greeting, when the scene in front of him stopped him dead.

On the couch, father and son were both asleep. Mickey had one arm curled around the kid, while Yev was holding onto Mickey’s t-shirt with his little fist. Both Milkoviches were oblivious to the energetic movements of the people _Zumba_ -ing on the tv screen.

Ian didn’t know how long he would’ve stood there staring, when Mickey roused a little. The other man shifted on the couch, wincing with discomfort. He seemed to be on the verge of getting up when he realised that he was holding his son on his lap.

Mickey looked down, his expression softening for a moment.

And that was all it took. After years of trying to forget how Mickey used to make him feel, of trying to bury all his naive dreams under layers of cynicism, Ian felt all the old emotions tearing free inside him.

He still wasn’t over Mickey Milkovich.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You make a fist like this, see? And don’t ever hold your thumb inside, ‘cause you’ll end up breakin’ that instead of dealin’ with whoever’s fuckin’ with you.”

Mickey was on his haunches in front of Yev, holding up his own hand to demonstrate. They were in the middle of the living room, after having moved the coffee table out of the way to clear the space. The kid looked between him and Ian uncertainly. Ignoring his son’s trepidation for the moment, Mickey continued his lesson.

Reaching out to take Yev’s arm, he formed the kid’s hand into a fist.

“An’ when you throw a punch, you gotta twist your wrist a little, like this.” He tilted Yev’s wrist to show the kid what he meant. “You do it like this,” Mickey straightened his son’s arm out, “you’ll break these two fingers.” He indicated the pinky and ring fingers on Yev’s hand.

The little boy stared at him with wide eyes for a moment.

“I, uh, I don’t think mama wants me fighting.”

“Yeah? Well, your mom can go—”

Ian finally stepped in. He gave Mickey a not-so-gentle nudge, almost knocking him back on his ass. Getting down in front of Yev, Ian spoke gently.

“Your mom’s right: you shouldn’t be fighting. But your dad doesn’t want you to go around picking fights, alright? He wants you to be able to protect yourself.”

Yev seemed to be considering that; he didn’t look convinced.

“What about running away?” the kid asked doubtfully.

“Sometimes punching someone who wants to hurt you will give you the time you need to do that,” Ian replied patiently.

Mickey had straightened up, watching the interaction between Ian and Yev. The redhead seemed to be getting through to the kid better than he was. After a moment, Yev finally gave in, turning back to Mickey with a resigned expression.

“Don’t aim for the face,” Mickey told Yev, acting like there’d been no interruption.

“Not the face?” Yev asked with a frown.

“Nope. Heads are hard; you’ll just end up hurtin’ yourself. Go for the stomach. It’ll knock the air right out of him, and then you run.”

The lesson continued for another half hour. By the time they were done, the little boy’s brow was furrowed in concentration. He didn’t look happy.

Mickey sighed. “Look, little man, I know you don’t wanna learn this. But all you gotta do is give a beat down to one of the kids who messes with you, and things will go easier.”

“Just stand up for yourself, and the bully’ll leave you alone,” Ian concurred. Then, in a voice so low that only Mickey could hear it, the redhead added, “Or he’ll let you fuck him in the ass, but whatever.”

Mickey choked. Feeling a blush creep over his face, he looked over his shoulder to glare at the other man. Ian gave him an unrepentant smirk.

The rest of the day passed quickly, with the two adults looking for ways to entertain the little boy. Ian suggested they go to the ice rink, and Yev had been all for it. Mickey had kept quiet during the discussion, making no move to join the two of them in pulling on their skates.

Yev was too excited to notice; it was his first time skating, and the kid was practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Ian, having just finished tying up his laces, gave Mickey a questioning look.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Uh, no. You guys go ahead,” Mickey said, trying to sound casual.

“Why not?” Ian frowned.

“Not my thing,” he muttered.

“What? Mick, come on. He’s your kid, he doesn’t wanna go skating with me,” Ian whispered, looking around to make sure Yev was still busy pulling on his skates.

Mickey shifted uncomfortably. Resisting the urge to tell the redhead to fuck off, Mickey explained in a tight voice, “Someone’s gotta watch our stuff.” He gestured lamely at their lone backpack.

“Then how about you let me take care of it, and you go out with Yev.” Ian reached for the bag, making Mickey jerk away from him.

“Quit it,” Mickey snapped.

“I will when you tell me what your problem is.”

“I don’t know how to skate,” Mickey finally burst out. He looked around to check that no one was in hearing distance before continuing in a low voice. “So I need you to do it.”

Ian was staring at him in confusion.

“You can’t skate?” he repeated dumbly.          

“When would I have had the fuckin’ time to learn, asshole?” Mickey asked defensively.

“Can someone help me?” a little voiced called out plaintively. They both whipped around to find Yev scowling down at his skates; the laces were hopelessly knotted. Ian hurried over to the kid’s side before Mickey could, crouching down to untangle and retie the laces properly. Mickey could see a faint smile playing across the other man’s features.

“Wait, isn’t dad coming?” Yev asked when Ian began steering him to the rink.

“Your dad is gonna take pictures to show your mom,” Ian replied easily. “I’d do it, but I don’t have a phone.”

“Really?” the kid asked with an excited little hop.

“Uh, yeah! Course,” Mickey stammered, seizing on the excuse Ian had given him. “Wouldn’t want her to miss your first time skating. Go on, have fun,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the rink.

Watching as Ian took Yev’s hand, and the kid tottered unsteadily over to the ice, Mickey pulled out his phone. Ian kept to the edge of the rink, allowing the kid to hold onto his hand as well as the rink’s railing.  Trailing along behind them, Mickey recorded Yev’s first tentative steps, grinning as the little boy gained more confidence. Soon, Yev had let go of the railing, allowing Ian to tow him around the rink.

Watching Ian and Yev mucking about, Mickey couldn’t help thinking that maybe this whole parenting gig wasn’t that bad.


	18. It's Been Awhile

For the first time since he’d left home, Ian was experiencing stability. It was a weird sensation, marked by routine and domesticity. Before he knew it, three months had passed since he’d returned to the South Side.

Living with Mickey was nothing like he’d imagined it to be. And, yeah, during his younger years he’d thought about it a lot. For one thing, they weren’t having sex. They shared a bed, but it never went further than that, although Ian sometimes wanted it to. Another thing was that Mickey seemed... steady. No longer hustling to make a quick buck, the other man went to work every day, worked regular hours, and brought home a steady pay cheque. It wasn’t to say the old Mickey was gone; the **FUCK U-UP** tattoos that marred his knuckles, and the small arsenal Ian knew was stashed at the bottom of the closet attested to that. It was just that Mickey’d matured.

In the time Ian had been home, things had gone well. And for someone who’d grown up surrounded by chaos, and spent most of his adult like drifting, it was kinda weird.

He and Mickey got up, and they went to work; they came home, ate dinner, and watched bad tv. Mickey’d given him a key, and Ian chipped in for groceries. Yev had slept over three or four times since that first weekend, and they both enjoyed spending time with the kid. They both attended their respective meetings; Ian’s NA meeting was held on Wednesday nights down at the elementary school. Sometimes they fought; on days where Mickey came home tired, or Ian’s cravings had been eating at him, they’d end up arguing over the stupidest shit. Still, things were good. Hell, given the way Ian’d been living over the last few years, they were great.

And yet, at the back of his mind, Ian could feel this _itching_ under his skin, a sense of restlessness that sometimes kept him awake at night. He tried reasoning with himself: he’d been doing whatever the hell he wanted for a long time; a sense of cabin fever was to be expected. Most of the time, Ian just tried to ignore it.

But last night was made even worse by the fact that he’d found a brown, sealed envelope addressed to him in the mail.

A few days ago, Ian had finally headed down to the clinic to get himself tested, not just for HIV, but for everything. They’d drawn blood, taken urine samples, and sent him on home. The wait had driven him crazy, the not knowing making his skin crawl. Paradoxically, though, as soon as Ian had seen the envelope, his stomach had dropped. Instead of opening the damn thing, he’d taken a leaf out of Mickey’s book and shoved the test results in an old issue of _Guns and Ammo._

Ian knew it was stupid and that he was only delaying the inevitable, but he just wanted some time to... to brace himself for whatever was in the envelope.

So, today was one of those days where Ian was struggling to keep his edginess in check.

“Jesus Christ, Mickey,” he complained when he saw the dishes in the sink. “Is is seriously such a huge goddamn effort to wash this stuff and put them back where they belong?”

The dark haired man ambled back into the kitchen. He looked down at the lone cereal bowl and spoon.

“You serious?” he asked, looking up to meet Ian’s aggravated stare.      

“Yes, I’m fucking serious,” he barked. “You dump all this in here, and I’m the one who gets left with clean up duty.”

“You don’t have to do anythin’,” Mickey began, appearing nonplussed, when Ian interrupted him.

“Oh, please. I leave it up to you, and they’ll stay in there so long we’ll end up with a science experiment growing in the kitchen.”

Mickey rolled his eyes at that. Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the room, muttering something under his breath.

Ian scowled. He followed behind the other man, down the hallway, and into the bedroom.

“What, huh? You got something to say then just fucking say it, asshole,” Ian yelled at Mickey’s retreating figure. He was itching for a fight, and he had no idea why.

“Don’t feel like gettin’ into it with you right now,” Mickey shot back. Reaching for his wallet and phone, the dark haired man refused to look at Ian.

And Ian fucking refused to be ignored. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of Mickey’s shoulder, roughly spinning the other man to face him. Ian got right into Mickey’s space, and tension filled the air.

“C’mon,” Ian goaded. “Let me hear it.”

Glaring at him, Mickey spoke through what sounded like gritted teeth.

“I said if I wanted a goddamn wife, I would’ve stayed with fuckin’ Svetlana. Least I didn’t know what the fuck she was sayin’ half the time.”

“I’m not your wife—” Ian snapped.

“Yeah? You fuckin’ nag like one.”

“—and I’m not your goddamn maid, either!”

“No one’s fuckin’ askin’ you to be!”

During the course of their argument, they’d moved closer together, to the point where only an inch or two separated them. The tension arced between them, and for some stupid reason, Ian’s eyes dropped to Mickey mouth. Without stopping to think, he ducked his head down to press his lips to Mickey’s.

For a moment, the other man froze. Feeling Mickey’s mouth unresponsive under his, Ian quickly pulled back. Taking in Mickey’s dazed expression, Ian wanted to punch himself in the face. Sure, he’d been wanting to do that for weeks now, but not while they were in the middle of a stupid, petty argument.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ian whispered.

Taking a few hasty steps back, he kept his attention on Mickey’s face.

The other man seemed to be looking through him, and Ian fought down a surge of panic. Oh, God, what if he’d fucked everything up?

“Mick, I am _so_ sorry.” The words came out in a rush, and Ian wished that Mickey would just say _something_.

Slowly, the other man ran his tongue along his lower lip. Unable to help himself, Ian watched the motion, feeling a sudden throbbing in his dick that he hadn’t experienced in months. Looking up to meet Mickey’s stare, Ian saw that that dazed expression had faded. Lust had replaced confusion.

Ian wasn’t sure which of them took the first step, but suddenly they were on top of each other. Mickey’s fingers were tangled in Ian’s hair, dragging his head down to meet the other man’s seeking lips; Ian’s hands trailed down Mickey’s back, roving down to cup his ass, to pull them closer.

Barely aware of his feet moving, Ian backed Mickey against the wall, nudging the other man’s legs open with his knee. Abruptly frantic, Ian slid his hands up Mickey’s back again, wanting to touch skin. One hand creeping under Mickey’s shirt, the other about to sneak beneath his waistband, the sound of a phone ringing froze them both in place.

Ian didn’t have a cell phone, so it could only be Mickey’s. There were only three people who had that number—Mandy, Svetlana, and Mickey’s boss—so they didn’t have the option of ignoring it.

Releasing an unsteady breath, Ian reluctantly backed away from the other man. It soothed his ego a little to see the surly expression on Mickey’s face; at least he wasn’t the only one seething at the interruption.

Standing on what appeared to be shaky legs, Mickey fumbled around in his pocket for his phone. He answered with a scowl.

“What?”      

Ian forced himself to put the length of the room between them. If he stayed too close, he might just throw the phone aside and pick things up where they left off.

Despite the intrusion, Ian felt like he was flying. For one thing, his body had actually responded, for the first time in too long to think about. But that was only a small part of it. An even bigger part of him was elated because Mickey had kissed him back. Feeling Mickey straining against him, knowing the other man wanted him just as fiercely had the blood singing through his veins.

Wanting nothing more than to jump the man standing across from him, Ian tried to calm down. Deep breaths, slowly in and out. It was only then that he noticed that Mickey no longer looked annoyed at the interruption. Instead, his brow was furrowed, his tone concerned as he spoke to whoever was on the other end of the line. Judging by what was being said, Ian was pretty sure it was Svetlana.

“I need you to make a lunchtime appointment, an’ then I’ll meet you there.” A pause. “Course I wanna fuckin’ be there. He’s my son.” Mickey listened some more. “Alright, whatever. Just call me back when you’ve got somethin’.”

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Mickey rubbed his face tiredly. He looked up after a moment, finally meeting Ian’s gaze.

“Lana says she thinks Yev’s comin’ down with somethin’. Wants me to front some money for the doctor’s bill.” He took a deep breath, his voice becoming uncertain. “Look, about just now...”

Something about the other man’s demeanour brought Ian down from his high. Crestfallen at what seemed like regret, but trying desperately to hide it, Ian cut Mickey off.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

Silence for a few seconds, stretching out and growing increasingly uncomfortable.

“You’re sorry,” Mickey said tersely. “You’re fuckin’ sorry.” He shook his head, pacing back and forth a few times before turning to glare at Ian. “Do me a favour, huh? You keep your goddamn hands and tongue to yourself next time if you’re gonna be fuckin’ _sorry_.”

Confusion settled in as he watched Mickey storm out of the room. So, wait... did that mean...?

_Shit_.

Hurrying after the other man, Ian caught up to him just as he was leaving the apartment. Surging forward, Ian slammed his palms against the door, keeping Mickey from stepping outside.

Hemmed in by Ian’s outstretched arms and the door, the dark haired man turned around slowly, a glower darkening his expression.

Refusing to back down, even though he knew Mickey probably wanted to deck him, Ian met those glacial blue eyes.

“Don’t you want me to be sorry?” Ian asked softly.

“I’m late for work, asshole,” Mickey gritted out, refusing to answer the question.

So was Ian, but right now he didn’t give a shit. Stepping closer, he gave the other man a teasing grin.

“Would it make you feel better if I said I wasn’t sorry?”

“Don’t need your fuckin’ platitudes, Gallagher,” was the snarled reply.

Ian’s smile faded. Drawing his hands away from the door, he reached out to cup Mickey’s face. Ducking his head a little, Ian brushed his lips softly against Mickey’s. He heard the other man’s breath catch, but instead of deepening the kiss, Ian pulled away.

They stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. Mickey broke the silence.

“I, uh... I gotta get to work,” he said roughly.

Disappointment filtered through Ian, and he took a quick step back. Feeling awkward and exposed, he gave a jerky nod, turning his back on Mickey.

“Can we...” A deep breath coming from the man behind him. “Can we talk about this tonight?”

Ian mentally cringed. He didn’t know if he’d be able to listen to Mickey’s blunt or, God help him, well meaning explanations for why this couldn’t happen again.

“We don’t have to,” Ian mumbled, giving a jerky shrug, still not turning around.

He felt a gentle hand on his arm, turning him around to face Mickey. That vulnerable feeling intensified, and Ian found it hard to look the other man in the eye.

“I want to,” Mickey told him seriously.

A few minutes later, as Ian watched Mickey leave the apartment, he could feel hope—stupid, naive, fragile hope—settle over him.

Maybe they could make this work.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian arrived at the Kash and Grab to find Linda standing behind the counter. As soon as he walked through the door, the woman turned to glare at him.

“You’re late,” she barked, not bothering with a greeting.

“Sorry,” he muttered distractedly, moving to take her place at the register.

“That doesn’t help me,” she said irritably. “If I wanted unreliable, I’d have kept Jason on. At least with him, I know better than to expect him to be punctual.”

Ian forced himself to concentrate on Linda. He knew from experience that if she thought she was being ignored, she’d just continue her tirade for longer.

“You’re right,” he interrupted her. “If you want, I’ll stay late to make up for it.”

She gave him a suspicious look before replying.

“Why, so I have to pay you over time? I have the twins to cover it.” Still, she seemed appeased by his offer, and left the store, allowing Ian to get to work.

The day passed slowly, with Ian seesawing between nerves and anticipation for the night ahead. Something about Mickey’s expression this morning had him wondering if they could do what they’d never been able to as teenagers, maybe move beyond the platonic relationship they had now.

The sound of the store door opening had Ian looking up automatically. His mind immediately went blank.

Stepping into the Kash and Grab, better dressed and with his hair a little shorter than Ian remembered, was Lip Gallagher. His brother froze when he caught sight of Ian restocking a shelf.

Ian slowly lowered the tinned peaches he was holding, putting them on the floor before he dropped them.

“Lip,” Ian breathed, taking a cautious step toward his brother, “is that really you?”

Lip didn’t answer for a long minute. Quickly shaking off his surprise, he gave Ian an assessing glance, taking him in from his head down to his worn boots before finally meeting Ian’s gaze. At last, Lip nodded.

Acting on instinct, Ian lurched forward to grab hold of his brother. Reluctantly, Lip reached up to return the embrace. Soon, too soon, Ian felt himself being pushed away, held at arm’s length.

“What are you doin’ here?” Lip asked in a strange tone.

“What? I-I work here,” Ian replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Man, I missed you so much,” he said excitedly, taking another step forward.

Just as quickly, Lip took a step back.

Ian felt the first prickles of confusion as he stared into his brother’s eyes. There was no sign of joy or relief on Lip’s face; it was like staring at a stranger. The excitement faded.

“Lip, what’s going on?” Ian asked slowly.

His brother’s expression didn’t change, and his voice was steady when he answered.

“I dunno. I was hopin’ you could tell me. You disappear for, what... seven years? And you just skip into town, and get your old job back?”

_Lip was angry_ , Ian realised belatedly. _And who could blame him?_

“I know I should’ve called you,” he began, knowing his brother deserved an explanation, “but I... I was a mess. I didn’t want you guys to see me like that.”

“You look okay to me,” Lip said evenly.

“Yeah, I’ve had some time to clean up a little—”

“How long?” his brother interrupted.

“What?”

“How long have you been back?”

“Uh, about, uh, maybe two, three months,” Ian floundered.

Lip’s mouth quirked into a small smile, but the look in his eyes was hard. “You’ve had more than two months to get your shit straight, and you still haven’t bothered to call?”

Ian didn’t know what to say. Lip saved him the trouble of having to reply.

“At what point would you have decided that you were _cleaned up_ enough to let us know you were still alive? Six months? A year? Would you have even have bothered at all?” The calm facade was beginning to crack, his brother’s anger starting to seep through.

Shame washed through Ian.

“I am so... God, you don’t know how sorry I am,” he said, taking another tentative step toward his brother.

“You don’t get to be _sorry_ , you selfish piece of shit! You know how many nights Debbie cried herself to sleep, thinkin’ you were dead? Me an’ Fiona, blamin’ ourselves for not seein’ the signs and stopping you from leavin’? And all the fuckin’ while, you’ve been fine?”

“Lip, I’m... I’m really sorry,” Ian said in a trembling voice.

“Save it,” his brother scoffed. Giving Ian a disgusted look, Lip spun on his heel and stalked toward the door. Before stepping out, Lip turned around to face Ian a last time.

“And don’t bother callin’. We’d pretty much given up on you anyways.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just a comment here about Lip. I will readily admit to not liking him, but this part wasn't about villifying him. Given how Lip reacted to Fiona in season 4, I could imagine his response to running into an apparently happy and healthy Ian after so long would be an angry one. So, this isn't me being all, "I hate Lip, let's make him the bad guy". Just putting it out there.


	19. Standing in the Wake of Devastation

Mickey got home just after five thirty that night. Anxious and excited, he took the stairs two at a time, and banged into the apartment. The living room and kitchen were empty. Quickly, Mickey headed down the hallway to check if Ian was in the bedroom or bathroom. Nothing.

His eagerness drained away a little, making way for a thread of disappointment.

All day, Mickey’d been thinking about their kiss that morning. The feel of Ian’s big hands on his hips, a hungry mouth parting over his—those thoughts had been running through Mickey’s head non-stop.

He wanted more.

But first him and Ian needed to talk things out. They’d never been good with the whole communication thing, but this was too important to fuck up. Barely curbing his impatience, Mickey turned on the tv, and flopped down onto the couch. He flipped through the channels impatiently, shifting restlessly on his seat. He scowled down at the thing.

_Honest to God, soon as he had enough money, he was gonna replace this fuckin’ couch._

Mickey leaned forward in his seat; got up, paced the length of the room.

_Jesus Christ, what was takin’ Gallagher so long?_

Glaring at the time on the microwave, Mickey saw that it was a few minutes past six.

 _Okay, fuck this_ , Mickey decided.

Too antsy to wait, he gathered up his phone, wallet, and keys; and left the apartment. Moving quickly, Mickey skirted the hookers and dealers who frequented the area. It was hardly ten minutes before he arrived at the Kash and Grab.

First thing Mickey noticed as he walked into the store was that some of the shelves were almost completely empty. Next, he saw Linda supervising her two gangly teenage sons as they cleaned up a mess at the front of the store. It looked like... watermelon?

Shaking off his confusion, Mickey called out, “Hey, where’s Gallagher?”

He watched as the woman’s slim shoulders stiffened; the kids exchanged a nervous look. Linda turned around slowly, and Mickey didn’t think he’d ever seen her so furious.

“How should I know where that reprobate is?” she seethed.

“What, didn’t he just clock out?”

Linda gave a mirthless laugh at that. It was a sharp, brittle sound.

“I don’t know when the hell he left. All I know is that when I got here, Ian was nowhere to be found, and half the store’s stock had been stolen!”

No. No, that couldn’t be right. Ian wouldn’t just bail. Barely managing to hold off the beginnings of panic, Mickey gestured at the security cameras.

“Can’t you just use those things to check when he left?” Mickey asked desperately.

“Trust me, if I was going to check the security footage, it wouldn’t be to find out when Ian abandoned my store to thieving bums! Besides, they don’t work,” she continued coldly. “I hadn’t thought I’d need them with Ian here. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Mickey couldn’t breathe. He stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do. Ian didn’t have a cell phone—hadn’t seen the point in getting one—and now Mickey had no way of contacting him.

Forcing himself to pull it together, Mickey started out the door. Before he could leave, though, he heard Linda calling after him.

“When you find Ian, tell him he’s fired.”

Not bothering to respond, Mickey ducked into the street, pulling his phone out as he went. Dialling his sister’s number, he all but ran back to his apartment. A small, hopeful part of Mickey prayed that Ian had come home, while the rest of him dreaded the worst.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered frantically as he waited for Mandy to pick up.

“Hey, Mick. What’s—”

Mickey didn’t wait for her to finish the greeting.

“You seen Ian today?”

“What?” she asked, clearly taken aback.

“D’you fuckin’ know where Ian is?” Mickey yelled, fear flaring into anger.

“Watch your fuckin’ tone, asshole. No, I haven’t seen him. I’ve been at work.”

Mickey stopped a few feet shy of the apartment building. He felt the panic threatening to bubble up inside him, and he couldn’t speak.

“What’s goin’ on?” Mandy asked a few seconds later. Concern laced her voice.

“I think... _fuck_.” Mickey struggled to continue. Forcing the words out, he whispered, “I think Ian’s started usin’ again.”

“What? No! He wouldn’t do that. Are you sure?”

“He skipped out on his shift at the store. Didn’t lock up, tell Linda, or nothin’. He just... left.” Jesus, why couldn’t he breathe?

By now Mickey had reached his apartment, although he barely remembered coming up the stairs. Throwing the door open, he checked the place for the other man, even looking in the goddamn closet and behind the shower curtain, in case Ian was fucking with him.

The place was empty.

“He’s not here, Mandy.” Mickey could hear his voice break, and he didn’t care.

Old memories of the first time Ian had left crashed through Mickey. He remembered how he hadn’t initially believed that the other boy would actually go through with it. Later, he’d been angry; fuck Gallagher and his stupid fuckin’ ultimatums. Then, for almost seven years after that, all Mickey had felt was alone.

This time there was no denial, and no anger. Only a crushing hurt. What the fuck had happened? What had he done wrong?

“Mick? Mick!”

The sound of his sister’s voice pierced through the noise in his head. Belatedly, he realised he was still on the phone.

“What?” he croaked.

“I need you to listen to me,” Mandy said firmly. “Can you do that?”

“I dunno,” he answered honestly.

“You cut that shit out right now!” Mandy snapped. “Pull your head outta your ass. You won’t find Ian if you’re feelin’ sorry for yourself.”

Mickey knew she was right. Giving himself a mental shake, he asked in a clearer voice, “What d’you need me to do?”

“If there’s a chance Ian might’ve relapsed, you need to look for him. Ask some of the dealers if they’ve seen him. Beat it out of ‘em if you have to. I’ll meet you at your place in a couple hours.”

“What are you gonna do?” he asked. Mickey knew he’d need all the help he could get to find Ian.

“I’ll call Lip, find out if he’s heard anything.”

“Fuck, Mandy, that asshole ain’t the answer to fuckin’ everything,” he snapped.

“I know that,” she said defensively. “But, I dunno... maybe they ran into each other, decided to catch up, or somethin’.”

Barely holding back a scoff, Mickey said goodbye, and hung up. He wouldn’t bet on Ian having run into his brother, but he’d gladly take that over the alternative.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After about two hours spent looking for Ian, Mickey met up with his sister in front of his apartment building. Even with the shitty lighting, he could see that Mandy had been crying. Looking at her, Mickey wondered what else could go wrong.

“You okay?” he asked, momentarily setting aside his impatience to continue the search.

“Yeah, I just...” Mandy drew in an unsteady breath. “I talked to Lip, asked him about Ian.”

“What’d he say?” Mickey didn’t know why he asked; if his sister’s expression was anything to go by, it was nothing good.

“He yelled at me for, uh, not tellin’ him Ian was back in town. He mentioned that he’d seen Ian today at the store. I think... Fuck, Mick, I think he might’ve said somethin’; y’know, somethin’ bad.”

Mickey clenched his fists. He remembered that Lip had always had a way with words, a way of finding that one vulnerable spot, and using it to break a person. He’d seen Lip’s handiwork when his sister used to come home crying.

Forcing himself to let go of his frustration, Mickey found himself looking around him, as though searching for clues as to where Ian had gone. Something across the street caught his eye.

Skulking in the shadows was a tall, reed thin figure. As though feeling the weight of Mickey’s stare on him, the guy glanced up.

And then he bolted.

Without thinking twice, Mickey charged after him. He heard Mandy calling his name, but he didn’t slow down. Focusing all his attention on the scrawny fucker who was trying to get away from him, Mickey picked up the pace.

They’d just entered the mouth of an alley when Mickey dove at the guy. Tackling the other man from behind, he and Mickey both crashed onto the floor. The narrow space stank like piss, and was littered with trash. But Mickey didn’t care about any of that.

Wrestling the guy onto his back, Mickey straddled him, then reached out to slam his head into the pavement beneath them. This was greeted by a high-pitched little shriek.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey snarled. He leaned back a little to get a better look at the man’s face. Mickey recognised the guy as Freddie something-or-other, a small-time dealer who lurked around Mickey’s apartment building. He’d noticed the pill-pusher giving Ian the once over a couple times, but the redhead had always shrugged it off.

Now that Freddie was suitably subdued, Mickey quickly checked the man’s pockets for weapons. He found a shiv and a nine millimetre. Tossing the things aside, Mickey shook the dazed dealer to get his attention.

“Wake up, asshole,” he growled, slapping the guy none-too-gently on the cheek.

Freddie’s gaze focused on him for a second before widening in alarm.

“What d’you want?” he squealed.

“Where’s Ian?” Mickey demanded.

“Who?”

“Guy’s a redhead. Tall, pale skin, freckles. Don’t play dumb with me, dick breath, I know you know who I’m talkin’ about.”

“What? I-I don’t...”

Mickey backhanded the dealer viciously, earning another shrill sound of pain from the man beneath him.

“Why’d you run, huh?” Mickey asked, ignoring the throbbing in his right hand.

“I thought, uh, I thought you were a-a cop, man,” Freddie whined, trying his best to wriggle away from Mickey.

“Bullshit!” Mickey hit the guy again. “You’ve been workin’ that street for as long as I’ve been livin’ there. You gonna tell me you didn’t fuckin’ recognise me?”

“It was dark!” Freddie’s nasally whine shredded Mickey’s nerves.

He’d had enough.

Leaning forward, he gripped the dealer’s scraggly hair and yanked the man’s head back so he’d be looking Mickey in the eye as he spoke.

“Lie to me again, and I’ll fuckin’ end you,” Mickey whispered. “I’ll bash your head in, and leave whatever brains you got to decorate the goddamn sidewalk.” He was quiet for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. “What happened?” Mickey demanded after a moment.

“He-he came by lookin’-lookin’ to score some H,” Freddie stammered, the words tripping over each other in his haste to get them out.

“You give it to him?”

“He had the cash on him! I had no fuckin’ reason not to!” The guy’s voice had risen indignantly.

Fighting the urge to beat the guy bloody, Mickey’s next question came through clenched teeth. “Which way did he go?”

“How the fuck—Alright, alright!” the other man screeched when Mickey pulled back to hit him again. “He was headin’ towards the bridge under the El, a couple hours ago.”

Relief flooded through Mickey at the information. He released his grip on Freddie’s head, allowing the dealer’s skull to thunk onto the concrete. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Mandy standing at the alley’s entrance; she’d stayed back so as not to distract him. Mickey took in his sister’s expression—wide eyes, lips pressed tightly together—and felt the creeping tendrils of shame. He shrugged it off. He’d done what he had to do to find Ian.

Mickey was just about to follow his sister out the alley, when the dealer’s snide voice drifted toward him.

“Yeah, go find your faggotty boyfriend! He’s probably slurpin’ down some AIDS cock for another hit!”

Mickey snapped.

Spinning around, he strode back over to Freddie, giving the other man a hard kick in the side. Again and again and again. Fury and helplessness intertwined until his mind had gone blank; the roaring of his blood in his ears was the only sound he could hear.

“Mickey, enough!”

A pair of hands grabbed hold of his shoulders, jerking him away from the now limp body at his feet. Turning toward whoever it was behind him, Mickey drew back his fist.

Only to stare into his sister’s terrified blue eyes. She took a hasty step away from him.

The sight of Mandy cowering away from him like that brought Mickey down faster than anything else could have. Slowly, he lowered his arm. He took a minute to catch his breath.

“C’mon,” he muttered as he walked past Mandy.

Mickey didn’t look back at the man he’d left bleeding in the alley.


	20. Alone I Seem to Break

Mandy’d had the foresight to bring flashlights, so they made their way over to where Freddie said he’d seen Ian heading. Although neither of them spoke, the streets were far from quiet; they could hear people shouting and sirens wailing.

As they walked, Mickey and Mandy shone their lights into dark corners and shadowy alleys. They saw bunch of gangbangers posturing, and caught sight of a girl too young to be turning tricks pulling up her skirt while some dude with a beer gut leered. All familiar scenes, things Mickey’d seen a thousand times before.

But it was the thought of Ian being in the midst of this filth that made Mickey’s stomach turn.

Mandy had wanted to go back for the car, but Mickey’d nixed that idea. He needed to find Ian _now_. The more time they wasted, the more likely it was that the redhead would land himself in some serious shit.

It was taking too long, and Mickey was barely managing to contain his panic. In an effort to keep his cool, he went through a list of things he’d do once he found Ian: it was a tie between hugging the bastard close and punching him in the face. Getting the other man a cell phone was definitely a must. And maybe, once he’d gotten Ian settled down, Mickey would pay Lip a visit.

Warming to the idea of having someone else to blame for this cluster fuck, Mickey almost missed it when his flashlight glinted off something red. Frantically, Mickey ran his light over the spot again. It was maybe a half mile away from the bridge under the El, and it was littered with the homeless.

For a few seconds, Mickey scanned the area. The brief flare of hope quickly flickered out. Maybe he’d imagined it. He was just about to lower the flashlight when he caught sight of that spark of red again. Keeping his arm at that same level, Mickey started forward.

“What is it?” Mandy asked, trailing a few steps behind him. These were the first words she’d said to him in almost an hour.

“I thought I saw...” Mickey’s words trailed off as he came within a few yards of where he’d seen that flash of red. The scene before him made his blood boil.

There was a man lying in the fetal position on the floor. He was facing away from them, using one arm to cover his face. It was too dark to see what he was wearing, but Mickey was convinced that he recognised the man’s boots along with his hair. So, while it was bad enough to see that huddled figure, what was worse was the large form looming over him.

“Hey! You get the fuck away from him!” Mickey yelled furiously.

The person appeared to be going through the prone form’s pockets. Looking up, the guy spotted Mickey and Mandy coming his way, and tried to scavenge faster.

“You wanna fuckin’ die?” Mickey was within a few feet of the unmoving figure and the asshole who was trying to rob him.

Something in Mickey’s tone must’ve convinced the thief that he was gonna meet with some serious hurt if he stayed where he was. Without looking back, the bum took off.

Mickey didn’t even waste the time it would take to scowl after the retreating figure. Instead, he immediately dropped to his knees on the cold concrete, and reached out gently to roll the other man over.

Feeling Mandy standing behind him, Mickey knew that she was probably wrestling with her own emotions. On the one hand, it’d be a huge relief it this was Ian, because at least they’d have found him. The terror of not knowing where the redhead was would abate. But, on the other hand, it was easy to hope that this wasn’t him. The idea of this man—Mandy’s best friend and Mickey’s sort-of boyfriend—almost literally sleeping in a gutter would break them. He turned the limp body over.

Elation and horror mixed together, and Mickey wanted to puke.

Ian’s face was grey; for a split second, Mickey couldn’t tell if the redhead was breathing. The joy of finding Ian became a distant memory as the most profound fear Mickey’d ever experienced took over. Fingers made clumsy by panic, he fumbled to find the other man’s pulse.

Faint, but still there.

In the distance, Mickey thought he could make out the sound of his sister’s voice. _Was she talkin’ to him?_ Dismissing that as unimportant, he tried to get Ian to wake up.

“Gallagher, c’mon, I’m freezin’ my balls off here. Let’s go,” he tried joking.

No response.

“Hey, some of us got work in the mornin’. Get your ass up, man.”

Still nothing.

“Jesus Christ, Ian, _please_! Open your eyes an’ fuckin’ look at me!” Mickey wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t hear the desperation in his own voice.

“Mick.” A gentle hand landing on his arm made him jump.

“What?” he snapped, glaring at Mandy over his shoulder.

“I-I called an ambulance.”

“The fuck you do that for?” Mickey demanded. _Fuck, why was Mandy doin’ this now?_ He couldn’t concentrate on her bullshit while Ian was still refusing to wake up.

“He needs to get to a hospital.” Beneath the calm front his sister was trying to project, Mickey could hear her voice tremble.

Still, he disregarded her words.

“What? No, he’s fine,” Mickey argued as he tried to pull Ian into a sitting position.

“For God’s sake, Mick, he needs—”

“I can take care of him, okay?” Mickey interrupted. “Just-just let me take care of him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mandy yelled, finally losing her cool. “Look at him, you selfish cunt! He’s barely fuckin’ breathin’. I swear to God, you get in the medics’ way, I’ll fuckin’ kill you myself!”

Mickey stared at his sister, eyes wide. Her shrill voice had pierced through the denial. She was right. He knew she was right. It was just... if he let the medics take Ian... everything would be out of his hands.

Avoiding his sister’s furious gaze, he gave a defeated nod. He turned back to Ian, shrugging out of his jacket. Spring had only just arrived in Chicago, so the nights were still cold. Mickey ignored the chill that suddenly sliced into him; he bent over to wrap the redhead up, trying not to jostle him too much. It was a small comfort to feel that the material retained his body heat, that it’d do something to keep Ian warm.

It didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive. In that time, Mandy paced anxiously alongside them, while Mickey cradled the other man’s head in his lap. He may have even whispered some things, but later he wouldn’t remember a word he’d said.

The medics climbed out of the ambulance, and headed towards them. Their expressions were businesslike, their questions to the point.

“What’ve we got here?” the taller of the two medics asked. He had dark skin and a shaved head, and he was pulling on a pair of rubber gloves with practiced efficiency.

“He’s unconscious,” Mandy answered.

Mickey was glad she’d taken the lead on this one; he didn’t know if he’d be able to force any words out at this point.

“We think he’s OD’d,” Mandy continued, her voice strained. “Probably heroin. His name’s Ian.”

The two medics exchanged a look before stepping forward.

“Give us some room,” the other medic ordered brusquely. This guy looked like he should be carrying a surfboard under his arm rather than holding a stethoscope. His wavy blond hair and pretty blue eyes did not inspire confidence.

“You sure you know what the fuck you’re doin’?” Mickey demanded.

“Why? You wanna treat him yourself?” blondie shot back sarcastically. Still, despite the retort, both medics appeared to be focused solely on the redhead lying between them.

His view of Ian temporarily blocked by the width of the medics’ shoulders, Mickey stepped back. Helplessly, he glanced over at Mandy and saw his own terror reflected in her eyes. He instinctively reached out to take his sister’s hand.

They stood there silently, listening as a flurry of medical mumbo-jumbo passed between the two medics.

The EMT’s quickly began lifting the redhead onto a gurney, startling Mickey. Moving briskly, they loaded Ian into the ambulance.

“We’re comin’ with,” Mickey said sharply. Without waiting for a response, he climbed in, pulling his sister along behind him.

Blondie muttered something under his breath as he shut the door behind them and the bald medic. The dark skinned man didn’t waste time. He immediately hooked Ian up to an IV and some other equipment Mickey couldn’t identify.

The ambulance pulled off, the siren shrieking loudly. Mickey looked down at where Ian lay and his chest hurt. The redhead looked so small lying there. His skin was pasty, in shocking contrast to his bright hair, and he had a bunch of tubes sticking out of him.

Hesitantly, Mickey reached out to take the other man’s free hand. It was cold and limp. So much so that if it weren’t for the beeping of the EKG machine, Mickey would think Ian was dead.

The trip seemed to take forever. Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey could see that Mandy was resting her hand on Ian’s leg.

The EKG began beeping erratically without warning.

Giving a low curse, the medic leaned over Ian. Mickey could feel himself choking on panic, but didn’t need the bald man’s terse, “Move,” to get out of the way. The EMT whipped out those paddle things, and placed them on Ian’s chest.

There was shouting going on between the driver and the guy in the back with them. Mickey was hardly aware of them talking. His entire focus was locked on the way Ian’s legs were twitching, and the thud as the defibrillator was applied to his chest.

An eternity later, the ambulance came to a shuddering halt, and Ian was being unloaded from the vehicle. There was a flurry of activity around the redhead, obscuring him from view. Soon they were wheeling him away from where Mickey and Mandy were standing. Immediately, Mickey made to follow; a nurse stopped him before he could take more than a few steps.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t go in there.”

“You just try an’ fuckin’ stop me,” Mickey snarled. He’d just moved to side step the heavyset woman, when he felt a hand take hold of him from behind.

Mandy was holding him back again.

“Mick, c’mon, don’t be stupid. They need to help him. and they can’t do that with you gettin’ in the way.”

Mickey glared at the two women, his sister’s expression pleading, the nurse impassive. He jerked free from Mandy’s grip. Folding his arms over her chest, Mickey felt like he was going to splinter apart. Frustration, fury, and helplessness were pulling him in different directions, giving him a jittery feeling

The nurse gave him a hard stare, as if to make sure he’d calmed down. Once she seemed convinced that Mickey wasn’t gonna lose his shit, she spoke again.

“There’s some paper work for you to fill out,” she told him, disapproval in her voice. The woman turned on her heel, heading for the front desk. Reluctantly, Mickey followed her.

Once the nurse had handed over the clipboard, Mickey flipped through the forms. Social security number, insurance, credit card details. Mickey’s head swam.

Shoving the paperwork at his sister, Mickey left the emergency room, muttering something unintelligible. He couldn’t breathe.

He stumbled out of the hospital, not paying any attention to where he was going. Mickey could feel this tightening in his chest; it felt like something was blocking his airways. By the time Mickey reached the parking lot, he was gasping for breath.

Unable to take another step, Mickey doubled over, still struggling for air.

“Ian... _fuck_ ,” he choked out.

Images of the redhead lying on the gurney—cold, unresponsive, lifeless—had Mickey’s heart pounding. _No_ , he thought desperately, _Ian’s gonna be fine. He’ll pull through. He can’t..._

For the next while, Mickey’s mind went blank. He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d left Ian’s side, but the next thing he knew, he was huddled in a dimly lit part of the lot. Mickey couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. Gradually, breathing became easier, and his head began to clear.

And he immediately wished that things would get foggy again.

Ian had just fuckin’ OD’d, and here Mickey was, having some sort of breakdown instead of being there for the other man. What if he woke up and Mickey wasn’t there?

Mentally cursing himself, Mickey stood up, only to find that his legs were unsteady; he stumbled a little. The sense of weakness chafed at him, and he tried to power through it, but nearly lost his balance again.

_Jesus Christ, he didn’t have time for this!_

Fighting back his impatience, Mickey forced himself to stay still, to wait a few seconds to ensure that his legs would hold him before he tried moving. When he felt steadier, he took slow, deliberate steps back in the direction he’d come from.

As Mickey walked, he saw that he’d come further than he’d first thought. The emergency room was crowded with anxious people and harried looking nurses. Skirting around patients and staff alike, Mickey’s eyes darted around, searching for a glimpse of his sister. It took him a while, but he finally found her.

Mandy was sitting in the corner of the room, her legs drawn up to her chest. In one hand, she held her cell phone, while twisting a strand of her hair between the fingers of the other. She was staring ahead of her blankly.

Mandy only looked up when he stopped in front of her. The look in her eyes was bleak.

“How is he?” Mickey asked, his voice hoarse.

Mandy took a long time to answer. She stared off to the side, taking in the flurry of activity beyond them. In that moment, she looked so small and tired. Too tired to keep on doing this.

Mickey was about to press his sister for an answer, but she spoke before he could get the words out.

“He’s still in there. They won’t tell me anythin’.”

“That’s bullshit,” Mickey spat. He turned away from Mandy before he’d finished speaking. Hopeless despair lifting, he geared himself for a fight. This he could do; he could make them tell him what he needed to know. He didn’t need to sit here, wondering if... No, he was gonna get them to tell him that Ian was okay.

“I called Lip.” Mandy’s voice broke into his thoughts.

Mickey froze. No. No, no, _no._

“What?” he croaked.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that his sister’s face was set, her expression hard.

“He needed to know what was goin’ on,” Mandy said flatly. “I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit anymore.”

“Did he call an’ ask about Ian?” Mickey demanded as he turned around. When his sister didn’t respond, he took a step closer to her, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Then it ain’t fuckin’ lyin’!”

For the second time that night, Mandy lost her temper. She shoved away from her chair and got right up in Mickey’s face.

“You just fuckin’ walked out of here, asshole! I didn’t know if you were gonna come back, or not! What was I supposed to do?” she yelled, giving him a hard shove.

Mickey staggered back slightly before rallying.

“You really think I’d fuckin’ leave him? After everything that’s happened, you think I’d just bail?” Mickey snarled back.

“Yeah, I did! ‘Cause that’s what you do when shit gets hard. You give up and go crawlin’ into a goddamn bottle!”

Those words knocked the air right out of him. Staring at his sister, Mickey struggled to find any words to say, some argument to counter what she’d just said. Judging by the look on Mandy’s face, she didn’t know what to say either.

“Excuse me.”

Mickey and Mandy both started as a voice came from behind them. It was a nurse, younger than the one who’d given Mickey the paperwork to fill out. Her face was kind, but stern.

“I’m going to have to ask you two to either keep it down, or take it outside. This is not the place for a screaming match,” she told them firmly.

Nodding mutely, Mickey avoided looking at his sister. Instead, he focused on the nurse, wanting answers about Ian’s condition while he had her here.

“Look, we’re-we’re waiting for news on... on Ian Gallagher,” he said, forcing the words out. “He was admitted a couple hours ago for an OD.”

“Are you family?” the woman asked.

“No, uh... I’m his, um... I’m his roommate,” Mickey stammered. He heard Mandy giving a disbelieving scoff behind his back.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t share that information with you,” the nurse said regretfully.

She’d turned around to walk away when a desperate, “ _Please_ ,” burst free from Mickey’s throat. In that moment, pride was the last thing on his mind. He didn’t care if it made him a pussy; at this point, he’d beg.

Staring at him for a moment, the woman heaved a sigh.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” she murmured before continuing on her way.


	21. An Ounce of Peace is All I Want for You

Mickey and Mandy sat together in silence while they waited for the nurse to come back. The tension between them was a potent thing, so much so that Mickey couldn’t help but allow his shoulders to slump in relief when he heard a familiar voice calling his sister’s name.

“Mandy!” Lip was hurrying into the emergency room, hair rumpled, clothes a mess.

As soon as Mandy saw the other man, she shoved out of her seat to race into his arms. They held onto each other tightly for a minute before Lip pulled back.

“What happened? Where is he?” he demanded.

Mandy gave a tired shake of her head. She sat on the edge of her chair, wrapping her arms around herself. “They haven’t told us anythin’ yet. Not family. You’ll probably get more out of ‘em.”

Lip nodded in agreement before turning his attention to Mickey. He didn’t say anything, merely gave Mickey the once over. Unable to help himself, Mickey raised his eyebrows in challenge. The only reason he wasn’t giving Ian’s brother his long overdue beat down was the fact that they were in the hospital.

“Right,” the nurse’s voice broke in. She was standing behind Lip, her attention focused on the clipboard in her hands. “Mr Gallagher has stabilised, and we’re going to be moving him to the ICU in a little while. You should be able to see him then.”

Glancing up, the woman made eye contact with Lip. She gave him a quizzical look.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Ian’s brother,” he replied. “And I need you to fill me in on he’s doin’.”

“Oh, of course,” the nurse said with a little nod. “Your brother’s condition is—”

“Can we talk about this privately?” Lip cut in. “Over there?” He pointed out one of the few quiet corners of the emergency room, well out of earshot of Mickey and Mandy.

The nurse looked surprised, but recovered quickly. “Lead the way,” she said, gesturing with her arm for Lip to go ahead. Behind his back, though, she threw Mickey an apologetic glance.

Silently, Mickey and Mandy watched as Lip walked away with the nurse. The other man’s head was down, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listened to the woman explaining Ian’s condition.

“You shouldn’t have called him,” Mickey whispered.

Mandy heaved a disgusted sigh. “They’re Ian’s family, you selfish prick. They deserve—”

“We’re his family, too,” Mickey interrupted. “An’ now, Fiona an’ the rest of ‘em are gonna come an’ take him away. He’ll be gone again.”

He could feel the weight of his sister’s gaze on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mandy reaching out to touch him before she hesitated and lowered her arm.

“Ian needs help,” Mandy said softly. “You can’t handle everything alone, Mick. He’s gonna need his whole family, everyone who loves him, to get him through this.”

Mickey didn’t respond. His attention had caught and snagged on the word ‘love’. It was an idea that he’d consciously avoided these past weeks with Ian. Sure, Mickey was long past that point in his life where he’d pretended that the redhead didn’t matter to him. But love?

Lip’s return distracted Mickey from his thoughts.

“They’re movin’ him to the ICU now. He’s still out, but the doctors figure it won’t be long before he wakes up.”

It didn’t escape Mickey’s notice that those words were being directed at Mandy. “I wanna see him,” he interjected, refusing to be pushed out. Goddamn it, he needed to see for himself that Ian was okay.

“I don’t much give a shit what you want,” Lip retorted. He spoke through clenched teeth, and still refused to look in Mickey’s direction.

In that moment, Mickey experienced the sort of fear he hadn’t felt since he’d found Ian in that filthy alleyway. _What if Lip wouldn’t let him see Ian?_

“Lip, come on, man. I just wanna know that he’s okay.” Mickey could hear the pleading in his own voice, and he hated it. But he’d gladly humble himself in front of Lip if it meant being able to check on Ian himself.

“He’s fine,” Lip snapped, finally turning to glare at Mickey. “No fuckin’ thanks to you.”

Incredulity and anger surged inside him, and Mickey spoke before he could stop himself. “I’m not the one who was so goddamn stubborn that I couldn’t even tell Ian that I was glad he was still alive! That’s fuckin’ on you!”

“And I’m not the reason he left in the first place!” Lip snarled back.

Mickey fell silent at that, having no words to counter the other man’s argument.

“You’re toxic, man,” Lip continued, sounding tired. “Ian’s not gonna get better with you around.”

“He’s... he was fine before all this...” Mickey stammered. His lips felt numb.

“If he was fine, this shit wouldn’t have happened,” Lip told him. “Look, if you give half a shit about my brother, you’ll leave him alone so he can get through this.”

A few minutes later, Mickey left the hospital, the numbness having spread through his entire body.

He needed a drink.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Ian became aware of was that he was insanely uncomfortable. For an instant, he thought that he’d slept on Mickey’s couch again. Except... no. He’d slept on concrete more comfortable than whatever hard surface he was on now.

Next, Ian heard the sound of something beeping. It was fuckin’ annoying. What the hell was wrong with Mickey? How could he sleep through this? Ian tried to jab his elbow into the other man’s side in the hopes of spurring him to make that stupid noise stop; there was nothing but air in the place where Mickey was supposed to be.

Ian tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy. Exhaustion pulled at him; Mickey’s absence and the beeping faded from his mind as he slipped back to sleep.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the next while, Ian slipped in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he’d wake up to the sounds of whispering, or to the feeling of someone holding his hand. It wasn’t Mickey, he could tell that much, even as out of it as he was; no calluses. Sometimes Ian had dreams. He’d see blue eyes, either darkened in anger or filled with affection. Or else he’d hear a child’s laughter. Those were the good dreams. In the bad ones, Ian would feel like he was flying, so high he could touch the clouds. And then he’d fall with terrifying speed, hitting the ground and splintering apart.

Jerking awake with a start, Ian’s eyes flew open. Bright light seemed to pierce his skull, and he turned his head away from the source. From the corner of the room he was in, he could hear a sudden flurry of activity.

“Shit, he’s awake,” someone whispered. "I'll talk to you later."

After a moment, Ian felt his hand being squeezed. It was a familiar grip, but he couldn’t place who it belonged to. Cautiously, he turned his head back in the direction of all that light. It was still too bright, but Ian caught a glimpse of dark hair before he squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Mandy?” he tried to whisper, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. _Shit, what was wrong with his voice?_

“Hold on,” that same voice said gently.

The sound of more movement, and then Ian felt the press of a straw against his lips. Instinctively, he began to take long pulls, the lukewarm water soothing his throat. Soon, too soon, Ian felt the straw being pulled away from him.

Opening his bleary eyes, he saw the figure of a dark haired woman standing with her back to him.

“Mands...” he slurred. “Wha-what’s goin’ on? Where am I?”

It seemed that the woman’s slim shoulders tensed. Slowly, she turned around, and Ian felt his stomach drop. It wasn’t Mandy.

“You’re in the hospital, kiddo,” Fiona said, a tremulous smile on her pretty face. There were dark circles under her eyes and her face was pale, but she was still so beautiful that it hurt his heart.

“Fi,” Ian breathed. Confusion swirled in him, and he tried to sit up. His arms felt like rubber, so he quickly gave up. _What was she doing here? He didn’t want her to see him like this._ Feeling his sister running her concerned gaze over him, Ian wanted to sink into the rock hard mattress and disappear. The confusion was soon eclipsed by shame touched with a hint of panic. Automatically, Ian reached for the thin sheet covering him as though it would hide him from her.

“What-what are you do-doin’ here?” he stammered. “Did Mickey... did he call you? He promised he wouldn’t! He promised—” Ian’s voice was getting louder; he could hear the rising hysteria, but didn’t know how to stop it.

“Hey, hey,” Fiona said gently. “Just relax, okay? Mickey didn’t call us. It was Mandy. She said you’d... she said you weren’t doin’ too great.”

Ian fell silent. Moving slowly, cautious, Fiona sat on the edge of his bed. She was staring at him intently. He wished he knew what she was looking for.

“We missed you,” she said finally. As he watched, her eyes filled with tears, but she quickly brushed them away. Ian remembered all the times he’d seen her do that, all the times she’d wanted to break down only to shove her own emotions aside so she could take care of them. Ian hated himself in that moment for being responsible for her doing it this time.

“I missed you, too.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the next half hour or so, Fiona fussed over Ian. She refilled his glass with slightly cooler water this time; repeatedly asked him if he wanted anything to eat; and headed down to the nursing station to get him another pillow and blanket.

In the few minutes that she was away, Ian took a good look at the room he was staying in. There was another man in there with him, and he was snoring gently. The curtains were allowing thin streams of sunlight to slip into the room. Still, it was chilly, and Ian would be glad when Fi came back with that extra blanket. Ian also spotted a couple of empty soda cans, and a few chairs clustered around his bed.

He wondered who else had been in here. Liam? Debbie? Carl? Lip? Unease fluttered through him at the prospect. It also led him back to something that had been bugging him since he’d woken up. _Where was Mickey?_

Ian wasn’t allowed to dwell on the thought. Fiona entered the room carrying a bundle of blankets and a pillow in her arms, her expression smug.

“Prune-faced bitch didn’t wanna give me any extras. Told her if she didn’t shut the hell up, I was gonna report her ass to the chief of staff.”

“You know the chief of staff?” Ian asked curiously.

“Jimmy’s dad,” Fiona explained as she began draping the blankets over him.

Ned was chief of staff? _Huh._ But that news didn’t distract him for more than a couple of seconds. Once Fi was done smoothing the bedding, Ian forced himself to ask, “Where is everyone?”

“They went to get somethin’ to eat. We’ve been takin’ turns stayin’ with you.”

Ian ran his stare over her exhausted features. He was sure that while the others had taken turns, Fiona most likely hadn’t moved in...

“How long’s it been?” he asked, suddenly realising he had no idea how long he’d been in here.

Fiona gave him a careful look. “How long’s what been?” she asked slowly.

Ian suddenly felt like a moron. “How long have I been in hospital?” he clarified.

She seemed to relax slightly, and came to stand at the head of his bed. “You’ve been in an’ out for the past couple days. We were worried about you.” Here she paused. Then, she delivered a hard punch to his upper arm. “Asshole.”

Ian flinched. He knew that she’d been kidding—mostly—but the guilt was beginning to set in. He was just about to open his mouth to apologise when two strangers stepped into the room.

One was a young woman with red hair like Ian’s, and her cheeks were dotted with freckles; the man was about her age, and he had dark hair and broad shoulders. Debbie and Carl froze when they saw that Ian was awake. Their expressions grew guarded.

For a moment, the tension in the room spiked. Ian felt every day of his separation from his siblings stretch out between them. He didn’t know what to say.

Fiona’s voice cut through the silence with forced cheer. “Look who’s awake, you guys! Where’re Jimmy and Lip?”

“They took the kids home. Rebecca was cryin’ an’ Liam has a test tomorrow that he’s gotta study for,” Carl answered after a moment, shrugging easily. He moved further into the room until he reached the edge of Ian’s bed. Carl peered down at him before commenting, “You look like shit.”

“Feel like shit,” Ian replied with a faint grin. Carl’s words brought with them a flood of relief: while his other siblings might be pissed—beyond pissed—Carl was still Carl.

Unperturbed, the young man flopped down onto one of the chairs by Ian’s bed, his legs extended in front of him. Debbie, by contrast, hadn’t moved.

“Hey, Debs,” Ian greeted her hesitantly. Hoping that he hadn’t fucked up too badly, he waited for his little sister to acknowledge him.

“I’m gonna catch the bus home,” Debbie told Fiona, ignoring Ian flat. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

_Shit._

“I guess I deserved that,” Ian said quietly.

Fiona threw him a helpless look. “She’s just... she took your leavin’ really hard. ‘Specially with Frank passin’ so soon aft—” Fiona broke off midsentence. “Fuck,” she breathed. She and Carl exchanged a quick look. “Ian, I’m so sorry. That just slipped out. I meant to tell you better—”

“It’s okay,” Ian interrupted, not wanting his sister to feel guilty. “Mandy told me.” Almost immediately, he wished he hadn’t said anything. Fiona raised her eyebrows, her entire body bristling.

“ _Mandy_ told you? Really? ‘Cause she told us she didn’t know where you were. She lie about that?” Fiona asked tersely.

“She... she hadn’t heard from me until-until a couple weeks ago. An’ that was only ‘cause Mickey wanted someone else to know where I was if... if there was an emergency.”

“You don’t think your family should’ve been the ones to know?” Fiona snapped, seemingly before she could stop herself.

And just like that, the tension from earlier was back. Not knowing what else to do, or how to explain his decision not to contact his siblings, Ian watched as Fiona took a deep breath. She sounded calmer when she next spoke.

“You’re probably exhausted. We should get outta here, let you get some sleep.”

Ian didn’t remind her that he’d been sleeping for the past two days; he figured she needed the space more than he did. Fiona briskly gathered up some of her things before heading to the door, Carl in tow.

Unable to help himself, Ian called out after her. “Fi?”

Pausing just in front of the door, Fiona looked at him over her shoulder. “What’s up?”

Ian knew he probably shouldn’t ask, not now, but he needed to know. “Where’s Mickey?”

His sister’s gaze hardened slightly. He saw a mixture of hurt and disappointment dart across her features before she wrestled her expression into neutrality. She stepped aside so Carl could duck past her into the hallway.

“Try get some rest, okay?” Fiona finally said. “We’ll see you in the mornin’.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fiona had been right: Ian had been exhausted. Almost as soon as she and Carl had left, he’d drifted off into a deep sleep. And when he woke up, it was to complete disorientation.

“Mick?” he croaked, reaching out for the other man. When he got no response, he tried rolling over, only to find that he was sleeping on a narrow bed in an antiseptic looking room. Ian abruptly remembered where he was: in a hospital.

Groaning, he tried to sit up; he started when he saw Lip sitting in the corner of his room.

“How you feelin’?” Lip asked. None of the anger from the last time Ian had seen him leaked into his voice.

Feeling awkward, Ian gave a jerky little shrug. “I-I’ve felt better,” he stammered.

Lip nodded, and they sat in silence for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, Ian couldn’t take it anymore.

“Listen, Lip, I’m—”

“I got somethin’ for you,” Lip interrupted. Standing up, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and held it out in front of him. “It’s from Mickey.”

Ian wouldn’t reach for it. “Why couldn’t he give it to me himself?” he asked. Looking from the note to Lip’s expressionless face, he felt a sense of dread gripping him by the throat.

“Dunno. He just asked me to give it to you.” Lip placed the paper on his bed before settling back in the chair he’d been sitting in before. Ian was torn; he wanted to snatch the paper up, so badly his fingers were almost itching; but what could Mickey possibly have to say to him that he couldn’t do it face to face?

“We need to talk ‘bout gettin’ you clean,” Lip said, watching as Ian struggled to decide what to do. Those words temporarily distracted him from the piece of paper.

“Lip, I was... I was doing better. It-it was a once off.”

His brother shook his head, an incredulous smile tugging at his mouth. After a minute, Lip leaned forward in his chair, looking Ian dead in the eye.

“You screwed up, and you almost died. We can’t fuckin’ go through this again. So, you’ve got one of two choices: you either get your shit sorted out, or you stay the fuck away from this family.”

Ian stared at his brother, searching for any sign that he was bluffing. Lip’s expression was hard, his jaw set; he meant every word he’d just said.

“Can’t believe you even have to fuckin’ think about it,” the other man muttered.

“And I didn’t think you’d care,” Ian shot back.

Lip looked to be on the verge of saying something when his cell phone began ringing. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checked the caller ID before getting up to take the call outside. Ian could just make out his brother’s words.

“Yeah, he’s awake... We shouldn’t have to fuckin’ beg—I know he’s family!”

Not wanting to hear anymore, Ian dragged his attention away from the conversation Lip was having outside. Instead, he reached out for the battered looking note still lying on his bed. He hesitantly unfolded the page. It was short and brusque, and Ian had to read it a couple of times before the words registered.

            **Gallagher, you’re where you belong now. Don’t fuck it up.**

 _No_ , Ian thought, _that couldn’t be all Mickey had to say_. Hurriedly, he checked the back of the note because there was _no fuckin’ way_ this could be it.

“Where’s the rest of it?” he demanded as soon as Lip stepped back into the room.

“The rest of what?”

“The letter. What’d you do with it?”

Slowly, understanding dawned across Lip’s features. “I didn’t do shit. That’s all he gave me. What, no heartfelt goodbye?”

Ian stared down at the letter again. He couldn’t believe it. After everything they’d been through these past couple of months, this was all he got? Two fuckin’ sentences on a throwaway piece of paper?

“That son of a bitch,” Ian whispered.

 


	22. It's Easier to Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd just like to say that I used real places in this chapter (because I suck at making up my own names), but I've twisted them to the point where they might not actually resemble the original. Please, if you are familiar with any of these places, forgive me for any butchering I may have done.  
> Secondly, I'd just like to tell you all that you should brace yourselves. This is a rough chapter.

A few days later, Ian checked himself into the Brighton Centre for Recovery. Looking around at the pristine white buildings, he couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated by the place.

“This place is like the Four Seasons of rehab centres,” Ian commented to Fiona as he placed his bags on the floor of what was to be his room for the next ninety days. Ian would be sharing the space with another man; the bed on the other side of the room was precisely made.

“When were you ever at the Four Seasons?” Fiona asked him with a teasing smile. She dumped Ian’s backpack on his bed before moving on to investigate the rest of the room.

“Me and Monica went to some fancy hotels a couple years ago,” he murmured distractedly. He’d just caught sight of a well worn Bible; he didn’t know if he’d be able to deal with a Born Again.

“You were with Monica?”

Looking up, Ian saw that his sister had lost all interest in his new accommodations. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her troubled stare.

“We were scamming people,” he answered reluctantly.

“By doin’ what?”

*****

**Five Years Ago**

“I don’t think this is gonna to work,” Ian muttered to the woman beside him. Monica Gallagher was decked out in a form fitting black dress that revealed an ample amount of her cleavage, which she flashed at the bartender every time he came to refill her drink.

“What? Course it will. You see how he’s lookin’ at you? It’ll be a cinch,” she argued.

She had a point: the man across the bar had been giving him the eye all night. Ian was no stranger to the appreciative glances older men threw in his direction. Hell, a lot of times, he’d capitalised on it. But this... this was different. It made him feel like a whore.

“All you gotta do is get him up to our room, get him in a compromisin’ position, and we’ve got him, baby.” When Ian didn’t respond, Monica spoke more seriously. “He’s got a weddin’ ring and a Rolex. You know how much those things cost?”

“Which one?” he snapped back quietly.

“The Rolex, silly! Five grand, easy. Probably more.” Here Monica paused, clearly sensing that Ian still wasn’t sold on her plan. “Honey, please. I can’t do this by myself.”

Remembering his mother’s mounting debts to her multitude of dealers, Ian forced himself to nod.

“That’s my boy,” she whispered as she slid off her stool. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Ian waited for almost half an hour before he made his move, giving Monica enough time to get to their room and get herself set up. All the while, he kept flicking flirtatious glances at the older man from across the bar. Finally, he got up and sauntered over to his mark. The guy was obviously trying to play it cool, but his gaze kept darting over to Ian.

“I have a room if you wanna have some fun.” Ian murmured in the older man’s ear as he leaned over on the pretext of paying the bartender.

Walking away, Ian didn’t turn to check if he was being followed; he didn’t need to. He felt a swell of contempt for both himself and the eager man who stepped up beside him to wait for the elevator. Ian didn’t know who was worse, the old guy for being so pathetically easy, or him for agreeing to go along with this.

The trip to the room he and Monica had booked was made in silence, although he could feel the other man’s anticipation. Ian pulled out his key card, opening the door and leading his companion inside. The door had barely swung shut before Ian felt a pair of hard hands on his hips.

“Well, look at you,” the man breathed in his ear as his hands roamed over Ian’s body. “I thought I was going to be in for a lonely night, but it looks like I was wrong.”

It took all of Ian’s willpower to keep his body loose and relaxed. Turning around slowly, Ian gave the old guy a wicked grin. “What do you wanna do now?” he asked.

In answer, the man leaned forward and kissed him. A shiver of disgust ran through Ian. Ever since he’d left home, he’d actively avoided kissing his partners. He wished Monica would hurry the fuck up.

Almost on cue, Ian saw a flash of light from a camera. Jerking away from his mark, he saw Monica standing there with her phone held up, wearing a triumphant smile.

“Gotcha.”

*****

Ian was yanked out of the memory by the sound of Fiona’s vehement shout.

“That bitch!”

Focusing on his sister, Ian saw her expression was mottled with fury.

“I can’t _fuckin’_ believe this! Actually, no, wait, I can. Fuckin’ Monica, of course she’d do this!” Fiona yelled.

“Fi, they were gonna hurt her,” Ian told her. “Her dealers... she was in debt up to her ass.”

“And that makes it okay for her to fuckin’ pimp you out?” She took a couple of deep breaths in an effort to calm down. It didn’t look like it was working. “It only happened once, though. Right?”

Ian wouldn’t look at her.

“Jesus Christ, Ian,” Fiona whispered.

Not wanting to see the expression on her face, Ian began to unpack. He didn’t know if he could deal with seeing her disgust or, God help him, pity. Instead, he asked her about something that had been eating at him for the last couple of days.

“I need to get blood tests done,” he told her as he began placing a couple of his shirts in the chest of drawers.

“What for?” Fiona demanded.

“Fi, please, I don’t wanna—”

“What for?” she repeated in a hard voice. Ian could tell she wasn’t going to budge.

“For STDs,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I got tested while I was with...” Ian stopped himself from saying that name. He started again. “I got tested a few weeks ago, but I didn’t get round to checking the results.”

“I’ll-I’ll tell the doctors to get it done,” Fiona said in a shaky voice.

They didn’t talk for a long time after that.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian found the recovery process more difficult than he would’ve thought. It wasn’t having to deal with his roommate, who was more chilled than he’d expected, or the endless stream of well-meaning questions from staff.

Ian wasn’t stupid; he knew he was an addict. He’d never kidded himself about that. But having to admit that in front of a bunch of strangers? Jesus, it was hard enough to talk to his own goddamn family about this shit, and now he had to bare his scars so a couple doctors could poke at them.

About two weeks into Ian’s stay at the Brighton Centre, he got the blood test results back. Turned out, he had secondary stage syphilis, a mild form of the disease that would be cleared up with antibiotics. By some miracle, everything else was clean.

Ian had cried himself to sleep that night.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Every second week, the Brighton Centre organised “Family Day”, an opportunity for addicts to show their loved ones how much they’d improved. They were held on Sundays, and were the best part of Ian’s stay. But, like so much else in his life, the good came with a healthy dose of shit.

Debbie and Lip had only come over once, but not at the same time. Each of those visits had been stilted and uncomfortable, with Fiona desperately trying to mend fences. It’d hurt, feeling the distance between himself and his siblings.

There had been some good moments, though. He’d met his niece, a tiny replica of her mother. Dark hair and dark eyes coupled with a sunny disposition, Ian had instantly been smitten with the little girl.

Today, however, Fiona hadn’t brought her daughter. Instead, it was just her and Carl who’d come to visit. Of all his brothers and sisters, Carl had taken Ian’s return in stride. With only a quiet, “You okay now?” his younger brother acted as though Ian had never left.

“My probation skank found me a job,” Carl told him as they watched Fiona have a serious talk with his doctor.

“Doin’ what?” Ian asked, smiling at his brother’s disgruntled tone.

“Fuckin’ janitor,” he grumbled. “Now I gotta clean up other people’s crap.”

“You think about getting your GED, maybe even go back to school?” Glancing over at Carl, Ian saw that the young man was pulling a face.

“Fuck that.”

“You wouldn’t have to be a janitor anymore,” Ian pointed out.

“You didn’t go finish high school,” Carl muttered.

“Maybe I’ll go back after I get out of here,” Ian said with a shrug. “Or, at least get my GED.”

They were quiet for a minute before Carl spoke in a dejected voice.

“It won’t matter if I get my diploma, or not. No one’s gonna hire me; I got a record now.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Ian sighed.

Carl scoffed. “Like you ever got in trouble with the cops.”

“You wanna bet?”

“No way,” Carl said with a grin. “What’d you do?”

*****

**Six Years Ago**

It’d been almost six months since Ian had skipped out on basic training. Ned had since kicked him out after one night of heavy partying, leaving him homeless. Still, Ian hadn’t let that stop him from searching for some sort of distraction from the shit show that was his life. Hook up after hook up, until he found himself in a club in Milwaukee. The place was called Fluid, and it was filled to the brim with people looking to have a good time.

Ian had made some friends in the few days he’d been there. Four other guys around his age had been hanging out with friends of Ian’s... patron. They were all young, hot, and eager to get into trouble. Which was probably why Ian found one of the guys—Jake? Jeff?—pressing a brightly coloured pill into his hand.

“What is it?” he yelled to be heard over the music.

“He can be whoever you like!” Jake/Jeff shouted back with a giddy laugh. “Although I call him Adam!”

 _Ecstasy_ , Ian realised. For a moment, he paused. This wasn’t him. Weed, sure. Booze, too, no problem. _That’s the point_ , he thought suddenly. _He didn’t want to be Ian anymore._ Without further hesitation, he swallowed the little tablet.

And that was probably why Ian found himself running bare-ass naked through Mitchell Park Horticultural Conservatory with a bunch of people he’d only just met. He had no idea how they’d even gotten in, or what had made them think it was a good idea to go streaking through the place after visiting hours; all he knew was that as soon as they spotted the flashing police lights, he and the other guys had started laughing.

Four cops, two to a car, took in the scene.

“Jesus H. Christ,” one cop said in disgust. He had a bushy moustache and a heavy belly, giving the appearance of a coronary waiting to happen. “You’re trespassin’, you little shits!”

Those irate words only made Ian laugh harder.

Hard hands grabbed hold of Ian’s upper arms, giving him a rough shake. A scowling cop got right up in Ian’s face as he snarled, “You think this is funny, huh? We’ll see how long you’ll be laughin’ once you get stuck in a holdin’ cell an’ no one comes to check on you.”

“Davis, that’s enough,” the third cop barked. He and his partner exchanged an exasperated look before he stepped forward to take charge. The policeman who’d been manhandling Ian released him with a sneer.

The abrupt motion sent Ian staggering backwards before he landed on his ass; that was all it took to set the other guys off again.

“Where are your clothes?” the cop who’d yelled at Davis asked tiredly. He looked kind of like an aging Ken doll. Tall, broad shoulders, blond hair flecked with grey. “Anybody got any idea?” he pressed when no one responded with anything more than the occasional giggle.

“Of course they don’t fuckin’ know,” the cop with the moustache growled. “They’re high.”

Ken Doll sighed. “Alright, you guys. Grab a twink, an’ see if you can find where they stashed their stuff.”

“Why don’t we just take ‘em in?” Davis demanded.

“None of ‘em are wearin’ any goddamn clothes,” Ken Doll snapped, having apparently lost his patience. “You wanna explain why we arrested a half-dozen naked underage boys, and put ‘em in holding?”

Things moved quickly from there, with each police officer having taken hold of one or two of Ian’s partners in crime in order to find their clothes. Soon, he was left alone with Ken Doll.

“C’mon, kiddo,” the older man said as he reached out to help Ian up. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain to himself, Ian was reluctant to accept the assistance. His senses were foggy, but some instinct screamed dully at him that something was off about this guy.

Still, not seeing any way out of it, he took hold of Ken Doll’s hand.

It took a few minutes for Ian to realise that they’d gone in the opposite direction of the others; it was quiet in this part of the park. Feeling the cop at his back was making Ian nervous, and he stumbled a few times while trying to keep an eye on both Ken Doll and the ground in front of him.

Finally, they came across a rumpled pile of clothes. Ian distantly wondered which one of the assholes he was with had put them there. He didn’t question it, though; he was too relieved to be able to cover himself up.

Hurrying forward, Ian bent to untangle the material on the ground when he felt a hand on the back of his neck. The tight grip kept him from straightening.

“You look real good in this position,” a gravelly voice told him.

*****

Ian abruptly shut the memory down, but not before that same helplessness swamped him. The feeling of a big body covering his, keeping him from crawling away, while something hard shoved into him; all of it came rushing back.

“Ian?”

The sound of his name being called yanked Ian back into the present. Blinking rapidly, he turned to face his brother, who was looking at him strangely.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, great,” Ian lied, attempting a casual shrug.

Carl stared at him for a moment before asking, “You get off?”

Ian instinctually cringed at the question; it took him a second to figure out what his brother was asking.

“I talked fast,” he answered with a forced laugh,

The rest of the visit passed in a blur. Ian desperately tried to focus on his siblings, but the memories of that night kept flashing through his mind without warning. Fiona’s hand reaching for her drink had him seeing the dirt under his nails from where his fingers had dug into the grass underneath him. Seeing Carl licking away the mustard from the corner of his mouth reminded Ian of how he’d been able to taste blood in the back of his throat from when he’d bitten his lip to keep from crying out in pain. The strange looks he got from his siblings when he took too long to answer brought back the humiliation of walking out of the dark wearing someone else’s clothes, with grass stains on his elbows and knees, and jizz leaking out of his ass.

After what seemed like forever, Carl and Fiona finally left. Keeping the smile he’d donned for their benefit firmly in place, Ian walked mechanically to his room. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he could feel his body start to quake, his stomach lurching. Unsteady legs carried him over to the bathroom; he almost didn’t make it in time.

Collapsing in front of the toilet, Ian couldn’t fight the nausea, or the memories.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the last day of the longest three months of his life, Ian woke up to bright sunlight streaming through his window. It was just him in this room, with Donnie, his roommate, having checked out two weeks ago. So, every night, he’d gone to sleep with the curtains open. That way, he was able to wake up to the sunshine.

Today, Ian was going home. Well... not home because he didn’t have one of those anymore. Instead, he’d be staying with Fiona until he was “back on his feet”.

It pricked his pride that he was being forced to rely on the charity of others. He knew that Fiona wouldn’t see it as a hand out, merely as what family did for each other. It was just... he’d been gone for so long, he wasn’t sure he qualified anymore.

Stepping into the home Fiona shared with Jimmy and the kids, Ian couldn’t help being impressed. The Gallaghers had definitely moved up in the world.

“Nice digs, sis,” he said after he’d taken a look around the place.

“Yup,” Jimmy said from just behind them. He’d taken to using this falsely cheerful voice in Ian’s presence. “And I got a new alarm system put in, too, so no one will be able to steal any of our stuff.”

Ian flinched at the other man’s pointed comment. Fiona noticed his discomfort, and aimed a murderous glare in her husband’s direction.

“I’m not worried,” Fiona told Ian, taking hold of his arm to lead him upstairs. “And if anything does go missin’... Well, it’s just stuff, right?”

Jimmy scoffed, but otherwise kept wisely silent.

They stopped at the first room on the right in the hallway. Reaching out, Fiona pushed the door open. The first thing Ian noticed was the mural opposite the doorway. The wall was almost completely covered with posters of women in various states of undress.

Ian couldn’t help but grin. He knew exactly whose room this was.

“So, I’m gonna be sharing with Carl?” he asked as his eyes travelled around the room. He’d already spotted a taser, a shiv, and... a pair of handcuffs? Fiona answered before he could devote any more thought to what the hell his younger brother would be doing with the cuffs.

“Uh, no. He and Liam are gonna be roomin’ together.”

“You’re kicking Carl out of his room?” Ian was immediately opposed to the idea. Bad enough that he’d just popped back out of the woodwork; now Carl was being shunted aside to make room for Ian.

“It’s not a big deal,” Fiona insisted.

“Why don’t you let me sleep in the basement? That way everyone’s got their own space, and—”

“No.” The finality in Fiona’s voice had Ian’s mouth snapping shut. She seemed to realise it because a moment later she forced a bright smile on her face. “Seriously,” she said more calmly, “Carl’s never home, so he barely uses this room anymore.”

Nodding meekly, Ian didn’t say anything else. There was a moment of awkward silence before Fiona released a heavy sigh.

“I’m gonna go make dinner. You can settle yourself in, if you want.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It only took a few minutes for Ian to unpack his stuff. Once he was done, he stared around the room, suddenly at a loss. He’d thought the almost familiarity of the room—because it was so _Carl_ —would’ve put him at ease. Instead, all it did was make him feel more out of place.

Not knowing what else to do, Ian decided to go back downstairs. He wouldn’t have minded a look around the rest of the house, but that could wait until he had a guide. Last thing any of them needed was for Jimmy to convince himself that Ian was casing the place.

Ian had almost reached the bottom of the staircase when he heard raised voices. Stopping a few stairs before the bottom, he listened to the heated argument between Fiona and Jimmy.

“I can’t believe you’re letting him stay here! We have a daughter, Fiona!”

“He’s my brother, asshole! Where was he supposed to go?”

“How about Lip’s place? Or a men’s shelter? Hell, anywhere but here!” Jimmy yelled back in frustration. “We’re gonna come home, and all out shit’s gonna be gone! Or else, he’s gonna invite his smack head friends over for a goddamn party!”

“Ian’s not like that.”

The conviction in his sister’s voice made Ian’s chest tighten. He wanted to make himself known, to interrupt the argument somehow, but his feet felt like lead. Before he could think to speak, Jimmy was shouting again.

“He’s been gone for almost eight years. You can’t possibly know what he’s like any more!”

There was a long moment of silence. When Fiona spoke again, her voice was cold. “Ian is stayin’ here. End of story.”

More silence. Then the slamming of a door.

Guilt flooded Ian. Shit, he hadn’t even been there an hour, and already Jimmy and Fiona were fighting.

_Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe he should just—_

“You’re lurking,” a quiet voice told him.

“Shit!” Ian jumped at the sound. Glancing down, he saw Liam watching him from the bottom of the staircase.

Spindly arms and shoulders, big brown eyes in an earnest face, his little brother hadn’t changed much. Ian remembered the day he’d left, how he’d promised to send postcards. He’d never gotten round to it.

They stared at each other, and Ian felt a pang at how big the kid had gotten.

“Uh, I didn’t know you were home,” he finally said, feeling awkward.

Liam shrugged. Turning on his heel, the kid dropped his bag on the floor before flopping onto the couch. The tv was switched on, with Liam flicking through the channels. Finally, he settled on National Geographic _._

Hesitantly, Ian took the last few stairs and stepped into the living room.

“You mind if I keep you company?” he asked, hoping that the kid wouldn’t ignore him.

Liam slowly turned his head to look at Ian. His expression said he didn’t care one way or the other, but he gave an amiable, “Sure.”

Smiling, Ian perched on the edge of the couch and watched as artisans painstakingly worked on restoring part of the Taj Mahal. It looked like tedious, backbreaking work, but then again, recovery always was. Ian figured it’d be worth it.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next few weeks made Ian think longingly of heading back to rehab. Living with his siblings had been something that Ian had missed every day since he’d been gone, and when Fiona had asked him to stay with them in Michigan until he’d gotten his shit sorted, Ian had kind of expected things to be the same as they’d been when they were kids.

Not a chance.

For one thing, Fiona hadn’t been exaggerating. Carl was rarely home, most days only coming in in the early hours of the morning. The first time it’d happened, Ian had been roaming the house during one of his frequent bouts of insomnia, when he’d seen a light on in the living room. Hoping for someone to talk to, he’d come down to find Carl passed out. After a second time, and then a third, Ian had given up on the hopes of having a decent conversation with his younger brother.

It was hard with Liam, too. Ian didn’t think the kid remembered him too well. He was trying, but Liam was still wary of him. The situation was made worse by the fact that Ian knew almost nothing about him. Awkward small talk about school only took him so far before the conversation trailed off, and Liam would turn his attention to his cell phone.

Debbie and Lip still weren’t talking to him. Lip hadn’t come over since Ian had moved in, claiming that work was keeping him too busy. But Debbie was coming home for the summer after having spent the last two weeks with friends, and Ian could already feel the spike of tension in the house.

The worst of it, though, was having to deal with Fiona and Jimmy. He knew it made him an ungrateful prick, but they were both making him _insane_. Much like that other person Ian refused to think about, Fiona seemed determined to treat him with kid leather gloves. She was always so careful to avoid anything that would upset him. Jimmy had been expressly forbidden from drinking in front of him, even though that had never been Ian’s problem. Jimmy, on the other hand, didn’t give two shits about making him uncomfortable, which would’ve been great if he weren’t waiting for Ian to screw up. He’d come home at random times during the day, claiming to have forgotten something, or needing to change after his clothes had gotten messed up at the hospital. Ian wasn’t allowed to be alone with Rebecca, the other man insisting that there be constant supervision.

It was becoming suffocating.

Ian hadn’t told Fiona, but he’d started looking for a job. He needed to do something— _anything—_ that would allow him to get out of this goddamn house for a few hours. Problem was, Ian didn’t even have a friggin’ high school diploma, so his options were limited.

A few days after Debbie got home, and a few days of being steadfastly ignored, Ian found himself trying to leave the house at the same time as his little sister. There was that awkward stop-start thing as they waited to see who would go first. Finally, Ian stepped back to allow her to go ahead.

Barely looking at him, Debbie brushed past, headed down the front steps, and turned left... in the exact direction Ian had planned on going. Not sure what else to do, he hung back a little in the hopes that she’d get a decent head start on him.

It was barely a block later that Debbie stopped dead, then doubled back to put herself squarely in Ian’s path. She glowered at him.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded.

“Debs, I promise, I’m not—”

“You seriously expect me to believe we just happen to be heading in the same direction? What, you gonna meet up with your tweaker friends?”

“Meth was never my drug of choice,” Ian replied shortly. Too tired to deal with his sister’s hostility, he stepped around her. He’d hardly taken ten steps before Debbie caught up with him.

“Then what was?”

Ian flicked a glance in her direction. “Fiona didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t ask.”

_Ouch._

Forcing himself to shrug, Ian answered simply, “Heroin.”

“But why?”

There was the faintest tremor in her voice; coming to a halt, Ian turned to face his little sister. Debbie’s face was composed, but there was something in her expression that told him how important the answer was.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, wishing he had a better explanation for her.

“You don’t know?” Disbelief and anger coloured her tone. “That crap ruined your life, and you don’t even know why you started using it?”

“It was... it was a lot of things,” he told her quietly. “I was in a really shitty place—”

“You think we were any better off, not knowing where the hell you were?”

For a long moment, Ian didn’t respond. Hearing the hurt and disappointment in Debbie’s voice... She’d always been the most forgiving of the Gallagher siblings, even when Frank had constantly fucked up. That she was still holding onto this meant that his vanishing act had affected her more than he’d realised.

“After a while, it felt-it felt like it was too late to come back and fix things,” Ian finally said. “Hell, I don’t think things’ll ever go back to the way they were.”

They started walking again, and silence fell between them. Unlike the other times this had happened, this quiet was more thoughtful than stilted.

“So, if you’re not gonna be meeting your dealer, what are you doing down here?”

“Uh, I’m heading to Starbucks. They’re hiring.”

“Fiona making you do it?” Debbie asked doubtfully.

“What? No,” he said, slightly offended at Debbie’s low opinion of his work ethic. “I was getting bored at home. Plus, you know what they say about idle hands.”

“Yeah, but... do you really wanna work as a barista?”

“Done it before,” Ian replied with a shrug.

*****

**Three Years Ago**

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ian’s life had gained some semblance of stability. After continuing to drift for almost two years, shacking up with hookup after hookup, he’d found himself in Indianapolis with nowhere to go. On the night he’d arrived in the city, Ian had slept in a bus shelter.

That had been the turning point for him. Never had he been so disgusted with himself. After all he’d worked for at home, and after all he’d given up when he’d left, the situation he’d found himself in was unbearable.

Determined to fix his fuck up, Ian had gone looking for both a job and a place to stay, somehow managing to stumble onto both.

 _Good News for Homeless Men_ was a shelter run by _Good News Ministries_. Ian’s hackles had risen instinctively as he’d read the organisation’s mission statement, but beggars—almost literally at this point—couldn’t be choosers.

So, Ian had swallowed back his discomfort at the whole thing, and fed them some sob story about how he’d been led astray. It’d obviously gone down well, because a few days later, the people in charge had organised for him to work at the _Lighthouse Coffee House_ , a Christian establishment.

And so, for the past two and a half months, Ian had been pretending to listen attentively to Bible verses, and had committed himself to celibacy for the time being. Neither were ideal, but they sure as hell beat having to sleep in the park.

A side benefit was that he’d made a couple of friends. Sure, they were a little on the conservative side, and there was no way Ian intended on telling them he was gay, but it was good to have people to talk to.

“Ian, hey!” a familiar voice greeted him.

Turning around from where he was replacing the filters, Ian saw one of his new acquaintances. Freddie had dark hair and light eyes, something that had reminded Ian far too much of his past for him to be entirely comfortable around the man. It had taken him a while to warm up to Freddie. He’d finally caved, though, not being able to resist the dark haired man’s charming grin and wicked sense of humour.

“Hey, man,” Ian returned with a smile. “You want your usual?”

“You know it.” Freddie waited until his latte had been placed in front of him before he spoke again. “A couple of my friends and I are going out for drinks tonight. I was wondering if you wanted to join us.”

“Uh, no, thanks.” Ian didn’t even have to think about it. He was staying as far away from that shit as he could.

“What, the Bible bashers got you on curfew, or something?” Freddie asked with a teasing grin.

The choice of words had Ian raising his eyebrows in surprise. Leaning his hip against the counter, he gave Freddie a curious look.

“You buy your coffee here almost every day. Why’d you do that if you’re not into that stuff?”

“Hey, this place makes good coffee. When it comes to my java, I don’t discriminate,” Freddie said easily.

“Yeah, that’s real open minded of you,” Ian answered with a smirk.

“Plus, there are other... benefits to coming here.” Freddie aimed a flirty look in his direction that had an automatic flush creeping along Ian’s cheeks. He didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like no one had ever hit on him before.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, too,” the other man said when Ian failed to respond. “I’ve been meaning to bring it up for a while, but there never seems to be a good time. You think you can take a break?”

“Uh... I don’t—” Ian stammered.

“You don’t wanna leave all your customers?” Freddie asked, gesturing around the almost empty coffee shop.

After telling his manager that he’d be back in a few minutes, Ian followed a suddenly determined Freddie. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was on the other man’s mind.

“You should come stay with me,” Freddie told him without preamble.

“What?”

“The place you’re staying at isn’t good for you.”

“A safe place to sleep isn’t good for me?”

“Come on, Ian, I know you’re gay—”

“Will you keep your goddamn voice down?” Ian snarled, looking around to check if anyone was within hearing distance.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about! You have to hide who you are!” Freddie said, waving his hands in evident frustration.

“I’m not hiding a goddamn thing,” Ian gritted out.

Freddie stared at him for a moment before heaving a deep sigh. “Look, man, I’m not saying this shit to upset you. I know you need this job, and you need a place to stay. But my roommate moved out a couple weeks ago. I got a free room. Come on, think about it. Doesn’t a place where you don’t have to worry about people finding you out sound good?”

Ian was tempted, so incredibly tempted.

 _If it sounds too good to be true, then it probably is_ , a little voice in his head warned.

“Why would you do that?” he demanded.

“You’re my friend,” Freddie said earnestly.

“Bullshit,” Ian scoffed. “You barely know me.”

“You’re right,” Freddie conceded. “But I know enough. I know that you’ve been through some pretty heavy shit in your life. I know you wouldn’t be living in that place, with those people who’d tell you that they could _fix_ you, if you had any other option. Well... I want to give you that option, Ian.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Ian kept quiet. Hope was an insidious thing, creeping up on him. Damn it, he deserved a break.

“Well, the offer still stands,” Freddie said quietly. The man shook his head regretfully before turning to walk away.

_Not everybody had to want something from him._

“Freddie, just... wait,” Ian called at the dark haired man’s retreating figure before he could chicken out. “I need to talk my manager first.”

***

The manageress of the shelter was a woman named Mrs Feiner. Reed thin, with steel grey hair, and piercing blue eyes framed by thick-rimmed black glasses, the men who lived at _Good News_ knew better than to fuck with the older woman. Still, underneath that unflinching gaze lay a heart of gold.

Knocking at the door, Ian waited until Mrs Feiner had looked up from the papers on her desk before he stepped into her cramped office.

“Ian,” Mrs Feiner said, peering at him over her glasses, “what brings you down to my humble abode?”

“Uh... I need to talk to about something important, if you’ve got the time.”

“Of course,” the older woman replied. “Have a seat.”

Perching nervously on the edge of a chair, Ian distracted himself by looking around the tiny room. Stacks of neatly organised files and forms; an ancient computer; and a heavy wooden desk, all stuffed into such a small space. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Mrs Feiner his news; she’d been the one to push for him to be admitted to the shelter.

“I’ve found another place to stay,” he blurted out.

Looking up, Ian saw the surprise on the woman’s face.

“Is there a reason you’re leaving?” Mrs Feiner asked in concern. “Are you unhappy here?”

“No, ma’am, that’s not it at all.”

“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand your decision.”

Ian took a deep breath before replying. “This place, the people here, you saved my life. But... I think it’s time for me to move on. I’ve got a friend who’s gonna let me stay with him.”

Mrs Feiner looked troubled.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Ian said, feeling awkward. “And to say, y’know, thanks. For everything,”

“Ian, before you go,” the older woman said, “I need to know that you’re clear on what might happen if you leave.” She waited until she saw that she had his full attention before continuing. “You’re giving up your spot here. If things don’t work out with you and your friend, we may not be able to take you back.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Ian replied.

“And you’re still going to leave?” Mrs Feiner asked.

At Ian’s nod, the older woman stood up from her chair and skirted around her desk. Pulling Ian into a tight hug, she patted him on the back a few times before holding him at arm’s length.

“You take care of yourself, you hear?” she said sternly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

***

The first night at Freddie’s had Ian thinking he’d made a terrible mistake.

“Here you go,” the other man said, trying to hand Ian a glass of wine. They were sitting on the worn out couch in Freddie’s apartment. Ian’s things had already been placed in the guest room.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” Ian said with a smile.

“You’re not there anymore,” Freddie reminded him. “You don’t have worry that someone’s gonna tattle to Jesus.”

Forcing a laugh, Ian shook his head. “It’s not that. I just tend to do stupid shit when I imbibe, so I try to avoid it.”

“Sounds like fun,” the other man said with a grin. Then, without warning, he leaned over to press a hot kiss to Ian’s mouth.

Freezing instinctively, he fought the urge to shove Freddie away from him. It took a moment, but soon the guy was pulling away, his expression guarded.

“That was dumb, huh?”

“Uh... no. No, it’s just… Is this why you want me here? Because I can’t—”

“Ian, I swear, that’s not it! Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

“I dunno, maybe I should go back to the shelter. I’ve only been gone a few hours. Maybe they haven’t given my bed to anyone else,” Ian said, getting up off the couch.

“Wait! Please? I’m a dick. It won’t happen again, okay?”

Reluctantly, Ian sat back down. He knew he should probably leave, but where the hell was he supposed to go? Mrs Reiner’s warnings echoed inside his head. Not seeing any alternative, Ian forced himself to shrug off the incident.

***

For the first week, Ian was deeply conscious of the perilous situation in which he found himself. Freddie was trying his best to smooth the whole thing over, but it wasn’t really working. The fear of falling back into old patterns was a constant itch inside Ian’s head; he wasn’t going to fuck someone just so he could have a place to stay.

One week blended into two, and two weeks into a month. And still Freddie kept his word. In that time, Ian found himself slowly lowering his guard. It was so freeing to just be able to be himself with someone he mostly trusted. While he wasn’t comfortable enough to give his roommate the whole story, he was willing to open up about some of the shit that’d gone down in his past.

One morning over breakfast, Freddie announced that they should celebrate the fact that he and Ian had passed the one month mark.

“That’s longer than my last boyfriend,” Freddie told him with a smirk.

“Yeah, but I’m not your boyfriend,” Ian reminded the other man.

“You might as well be,” he said, bending over to put some dishes into the washer. “Only thing we don’t do is fuck.”

“Yeah, I don’t do that anymore,” Ian said wryly.

“Do what? Have sex? I've noticed.”

“Have sex with guys so I can have a place to stay,” Ian clarified.

“You did that before?” Freddie sounded scandalised.

“Well, it was either I fucked ‘em, so they’d let me stay; or they let me stay, so I fucked ‘em,” Ian said quietly. “Either way, it’s not happening again.”

Freddie was quiet for a few minutes. It wasn’t like the other man, and Ian found himself worrying that his revelation had upset Freddie.

“We can still celebrate, y’know, if-if you want,” Ian said hesitantly.

The pensive expression on Freddie’s face quickly lifted, replaced by that familiar charming grin. “Absolutely,” he said. “You planning on sharing some champagne with me?”

“Uh...” Ian hesitated. He’d managed to avoid anything that’d fuck with his judgement, but seeing the hopeful expression on Freddie’s face made him decide that putting aside that rule this one time wasn’t going to hurt anybody. “Sure. Just one glass though.”

“Sweet!” Freddie’s smile widened. “Tonight’s gonna be a good night.”

***

Something was wrong. He and Freddie had finished up with dinner a couple minutes ago before the other man had broken out the champagne. Forcing back any lingering reluctance, Ian had taken the glass from his friend and taken a few dutiful sips.

“It’s just the cheap stuff,” Freddie told him ruefully as he took a seat next to Ian.

“It’s pretty good,” Ian told him. The other man gave him a doubtful look. “Okay, it’s not awful,” he amended.

They’d spent about twenty minutes just talking and laughing before Ian felt a sudden wave of dizziness. _What the hell?_ Reaching a trembling hand out to the back of the couch, Ian tried to steady himself. He was just trying to shake the feeling off when it happened again.

“You okay?” Freddie asked, his expression concerned.

“What?”

“You look a little clammy.” The other man scooted closer to him, resting his hand on Ian’s knee. The familiarity of the gesture made Ian slightly uncomfortable. He wanted to say something, push that hand away, but the dizziness that rocked him was worse this time.

Closing his eyes in the hopes that that would dispel lightheadedness, Ian distantly noted that Freddie’s hand was creeping higher, moving to cup him through his jeans.

He couldn’t remember what happened after that.

***

The next morning, Ian had woken up, nausea curdling his stomach. Instinctively, he crawled to the edge of his bed and retched. His stomach rebelled, and all he could do was ride it out. Lost in misery, he didn’t notice Freddie entering the room. It was only when the other man reached out to rub Ian’s back that he realised Freddie was there.

The feel of the other man’s touch had left Ian shuddering. But it was his attitude towards the whole thing that’d been the most chilling. The man had shrugged off Ian’s hoarse accusation that he’d been drugged.

“Had to loosen you up somehow, right? And besides, like you said yesterday, it’s not like you haven’t done it before. It’s like... might as well get payment for services rendered, y'know?.”

Not long after that, Freddie had left to go to work. His last words to Ian had been a request for Ian to clean up the puddle of puke before he left the apartment. The sound of the front door closing behind Freddie served to shake Ian out of the daze he’d fallen into. Forcing himself up from the bed, Ian had begun to pack. In that moment, he’d been driven by the overwhelming urge to _get out_.

Anything in the room that was small enough to fit in his backpack, Ian shoved carelessly inside. Clothes, his dinky cell phone, his wallet; pausing, he considered the benefits of taking some of Freddie’s stuff to pay his way.

Resolving not to take a single fucking thing from the asshole, Ian walked out of the apartment on unsteady legs. Still, as Ian stumbled out of the building and onto the busy street, he’d found that he had taken something of Freddie’s with him.

_Might as well get payment for services rendered._

The words weighed on Ian heavily.

Maybe the prick had had a point.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was just one of the memories that Ian had been forced to share with his NA group. Well, ‘forced’ was probably the wrong word. But his sponsor, Nadia, a woman with cherry red hair, and tattoos on every visible part of her body, kind of insisted on it.

Summer had faded into autumn, and before Ian knew it, Thanksgiving had rolled round. During that time, Ian had attended his meetings religiously, went to the gym, and tried to get things back on track with his family.

“How’s that going?” Nadia asked him after their last meeting before the holidays.

“Not bad. Workin’ on that whole ‘making amends’ thing. It’s harder than I thought it’d be,” Ian replied.

“But your family’s responding to it?”

“For the most part,” he said with a noncommittal shrug.

“Any progress with your brother?”

“Which one?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Nadia said impatiently. “You know who I’m talking about. Are you and Lip any closer to patching things up?

“He’s been over a few times the past couple months... finds ways not to be in the same room with me.”

They were quiet for a few more minutes as Nadia walked him to the bus stop. Finally, she turned to him with a serious expression.

“I’m giving you homework for the holidays,” she informed him.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I want you to get your brother to listen to you. And don’t just tell him that you’re sorry. Explain things to him.”

“I don’t think he’ll wanna hear it,” Ian murmured.

Nadia delivered a sharp smack to the back of Ian’s head. “No feeling sorry for yourself. Get it done.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanksgiving had finally rolled around, and the whole family was there. Ian had overheard a phone conversation between Lip and Fiona a couple weeks before; it’d sounded like his brother had been trying to get out of it, but Fiona wouldn’t budge.

So, the night before Lip had arrived at the Gallagher house, a pretty blonde on his arm. They were both all smiles, but there was an underlying tension in the room when Lip introduced Ian to the woman. Her name was Sabine, and she was a paralegal at Lip’s firm. She was friendly but cautious as she shook Ian’s hand. Organising where everyone would be sleeping took up most of the rest of the night. Ian didn’t know if he should be grateful for that, or not. The temporary reprieve only ratcheted up his anxiety to clear the air with Lip.

The chaos continued the next morning. Debbie had taken charge of the kitchen, barking orders that would’ve made Ian’s drill sergeant proud.

After what seemed like hours, they finally sat down to dinner. Kev and V had joined them with their twin daughters and tiny son. Ian watched the little girls, and felt a slight pang as he thought about Yevgeny. He wondered what Mickey and the kid were doing for the holidays.

Fiona’s voice cut into his thoughts.

“Right, it’s Thanksgiving, and we all know what that means. Who wants to go first?”

Ian looked around in confusion. Carl, who was sitting beside him, noticed, and explained in a low voice. “We gotta say what we’re thankful for. Bein’ married’s made Fi weird,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

“Carl,” Fiona said with a cheerful smile, “why don’t you start?”

Muttering irritably under his breath, Carl slouched down further in his seat. After a moment, he grunted. “Glad not to be in prison,”

And so it went.

Ian shifted uncomfortably when it was his turn. The weight of his family’s attention had him blurting out the truth before he could think better of it.

“I’m thankful for all this food.”

He heard Carl’s appreciative chuckle from beside him; everyone else was quiet, though. Fiona looked disappointed, and Lip was shaking his head slightly, a derisive expression on his face.

“Well,” Jimmy said in that phony cheerful voice, “let’s get eating then!”

The awkwardness passed quickly, but Ian still felt like an ass. He ate in silence, nodding occasionally to make it seem like he was paying attention to any of the number of conversations being held around the table.

Ian saw his opportunity to talk to Lip when the other man slipped out of the room for a smoke. He knew that his brother probably wouldn’t appreciate being cornered, but Ian was tired of the strain between them.

Besides, he owed Lip some sort of explanation.

Ian found Lip sitting on the back steps, taking the occasional drag from his cigarette. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat beside the other man.

“You’re an asshole, y’know,” Lip commented. He was staring out ahead of him, refusing to look at Ian.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” Ian murmured.

“Hey, no judgement, man,” Lip said through a plume of smoke. “Least you were honest for a change, right?”

Ian cast about for something to say. The prospect of revealing to his brother how low he’d sunk was humiliating, but he forced himself to speak.

“Before I went back to Chicago, I was in fuckin’ placed called Sandwich. No shit,” he said, spotting Lip’s smirk. “And I hadn’t eaten in about three days. Lot of times, it came down to choosing between the drugs and food. Usually the H won.”

Keeping his gaze fixed on the steps beneath him, Ian allowed the memories to resurface.

*****

**One Year Ago**

Ian started crying. Not out of shame, or disgust at his actions. No, it was the relief that had him sobbing. Kneeling in front of a stranger, all he could think was that he was going to get enough money to buy something to eat.

“Quit bawling,” the rough voice above him growled. “You keep that up, and I ain’t gonna pay you.”

Nodding frantically, Ian scrubbed the tears away before taking the guy into his mouth.

Turning tricks wasn’t anything new to him by that point. For almost two years, Ian had been selling himself to strangers, and sinking deeper and deeper until he barely recognised himself. The heroin usage had started not long after he left Freddie’s place, until finally Ian had thought that he couldn’t get any more pathetic.

Except, as he was proving tonight, here on his knees, there was always a worse place.

The man came with a hoarse grunt a few minutes later. Ian waited until he was sure the guy was finished before spitting out the jizz. Wiping at his mouth with back of his hand, he looked up at the man above him expectantly.

“Substandard,” the guy said once he’d recovered.

“What?” Ian gasped out.

“You’re lucky I’m givin’ you this much.” A twenty dollar bill was tossed to the ground, perilously close to where Ian had spat the guy’s come.

“You said fifty,” Ian argued, even as he scrambled to grab hold of the money.

‘What you gonna do about it, huh?” the man demanded, stepping forward aggressively. “You get the fuck outta here ‘fore I kick your ass.”

Staggering away, Ian had found the closest McDonalds, spending half of the money he’d just earned. The teenager behind the counter gave him the stank eye, but he ignored it. Snatching the bag out of the guy’s hands, Ian sat at the closest table and all but inhaled his food. Within minutes, he’d finished off his dinner. Slumping down in front of the dirty table, Ian stared blankly ahead of him.

Head clear and belly full for the first time in too long to contemplate, a sense of debasement began to settle over Ian.

_He’d literally just sucked a guy off for twenty bucks._

Getting up from his seat, Ian walked. He knew it couldn’t have been very far, knew that he was in no condition to go more than a few blocks, but if felt like miles. Coming to a halt in front of the bus stop, Ian spent a couple minutes waiting. He didn’t allow himself to second guess what he was doing as the bus pulled over; shaky legs carried him forward, onto the bus, to the driver where he paid for his ticket, and into a seat near the back.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think.

*****

“Where’d you end up?”

Ian turned to face his brother. Lip had stomped out the cigarette, and was staring at him intently.

“At a church,” Ian replied candidly. He smiled slightly at his brother’s scoff of disbelief. “Yeah, I dunno how I got there. Just stumbled round for a while; turned out they were havin’ an AA meeting in the basement.” His voice trailed off at the memory of what came next.

“That what made you decide to sober up?” Lip asked.

Ian scoffed. “Nope. I ended up passing out in the parking lot... That’s where Mickey found me.”

“You ended up at one of his AA meetings?”

“I know, right? What are the fuckin’ odds?” Ian paused before continuing in a soft voice, “I’m pretty sure Mickey saved my life that night.”

They were quiet for a minute or two. Then Lip shifted beside him, clearing his throat before he spoke. “He wanted to see you that night at the hospital, an’ I told him to fuck off, that you couldn’t get better with him around.”

Ian stared at his brother. “But... the letter,” he whispered. He still had the goddamn thing, hiding the worn, dog-eared piece of paper in the Bible Donnie had given him.

“He wrote it, but only after we got into it,” Lip admitted.

The revelation had Ian falling silent. It was kind of a relief, to know that Mickey had wanted to know if he was okay, that Ian hadn’t fucked things up so much that Mickey didn’t care. But, at the same time, it pissed him off, because Mickey had just let him go, hadn’t fought harder to stay with him. Ian could maybe understand the initial decision to back off, but it’d been almost six months.

“Fuck,” Ian breathed after a minute.

“He’s the reason you left,” Lip said quietly.

“Jesus Christ, Lip,” Ian snapped, suddenly exasperated. “It’s not like he forced me to go. I chose to leave.”

“He made you feel like you couldn’t stay,” Lip argued. “You couldn’t even talk to me about it. I had no fuckin’ idea how bad things were until you were fuckin’ gone.” Lip hesitated a moment. “Then we find out that Mickey’s the one you let help you when you needed it. Not your family. Him.”

Ian didn’t know how to respond to that. He let out a deep breath before moving to stand up; his ass was going numb.

Just as Ian turned to head back into the house, his brother spoke again. “Mandy calls every couple of days. Been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy. You should probably call her, or somethin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I forget, I just want to say that I didn't come up with the Monica/Ian scam thing. I saw it on tumblr in December, and I can't for the life of me remember who came up with it. But I thought it fit in with where Ian was in his life at that point.  
> On a more personal note, this chapter was really hard for me to write. I upset myself a bunch of times during this part, but I thought it was really important to show what Ian was doing while he was away. It would also help explain how Ian got to where he was, and why he did some of the things he did.


	23. Roads Untraveled

The first few days were the worst.

Never before had Mickey so desperately wanted to find the solution to his problems at the bottom of a bottle. He probably would have, if it weren’t for Mandy.

Mickey had left the hospital in a daze. A part of him was creaming to go back, that angry voice clawing at his thoughts as he put more distance between himself and Ian. A bigger part of him, though, wondered if Lip was right. He’d fucked up when Ian had left that first time, he knew that. But he’d tried so fuckin’ hard this time, and still he hadn’t been enough to hold the redhead together.

So he walked. The hospital was a couple blocks from his apartment, but he barely felt the distance. Mickey was aware of his sister beside him, talking to him and occasionally trying to take hold of his wrist, but he couldn’t concentrate.

His thoughts were with Ian.

_Were they takin’ care of him? Course they are, asshole, they’re his family._

_I was takin’ care of him. Yeah, and look how that turned out._

Memories of Ian were racing through his head, too. The redhead lying on the cracked sidewalk, the stench of the nearby alley had making it hard to breathe. Seeing Ian being lifted onto the gurney, his skin gaunt and grey. Climbing into the ambulance, Mickey remembered the panic he’d felt at taking hold of the other man’s unresponsive hand. The way his heart had sped up when the EKG machine started going haywire.

Round and round it all went inside his head, until Mickey would’ve given anything just to drown it all out.

The thought had barely crossed his mind before he changed course, heading toward The Alibi instead of his apartment.

“Where you goin’?” Mandy demanded from behind him.

Mickey didn’t answer. Absently, he wondered if he had any money on him. He couldn’t remember if he’d taken his wallet with him when he’d gone looking for Ian. _Jesus, it felt like a lifetime ago._ Didn’t matter; he’d start a tab.

Something hit him in the chest. Hard. Then again. Momentarily broken free from the vice grip his thoughts had on him, Mickey looked down to find his sister had planted herself directly in front of him.

“Where the fuck you goin’? Your apartment’s that way,” Mandy said, gesturing in the opposite direction.

“Nothin’ there now,” he muttered, trying to skirt around his sister.

“So, what,” Mandy snarled as it seemed to dawn on her where he was headed, “you’re gonna get drunk? What if he needs you an’ you’re too shitfaced to do anythin’?”

“He’s got his family now. Don’t need me anymore.”

“Fuckin’ selfish pussy!” Mandy exploded.

Mickey stopped trying to sidestep his sister as he bristled instinctively. He glared at her.

“What?” she yelled. “You gonna deny it? Things get hard, an’ you just fuckin’ fall off the wagon?”

“He almost died,” Mickey gritted out.

“How’s that your fault? I love Ian, but that shit’s on him. Just like it’s on you if you do this.” Mandy’s voice trembled. “What about your kid, Mick? You gonna leave it to Svetlana to explain to him that now Ian’s gone, his dad’s too drunk to give a shit about him. Fuckin’ again?”

As quickly as it came, the fight drained out of Mickey. He ran his hands roughly through his hair, trying to keep it together. Mandy was right, he knew she was. It was just...

“I dunno what to do,” he admitted.

“I know.”

Mandy stepped forward to wrap her arms around him. Uncertain, it took Mickey a moment to return the embrace. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d done this, and the thought made him hold her tighter.

Fuck knew, they’d both needed the comfort at that point.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the next month, Mandy camped out at his place. It was the first time they’d stayed in the same place in years, and they found themselves reverting to old habits. From arguing over whose turn it was to do the laundry, to bitching about the other’s choice in tv shows. They weren’t always grousing at each other, though. Some nights they played Mario Kart; or stood outside, leaning against the railing, passing a cigarette back and forth between them. One night, about a week after everything that had happened, Mandy had whipped out a canister of nitrous. Mickey had woken up the next morning, late for work and with his nails painted a bright, sparkly shade of pink.

They didn’t talk about Ian.

Mickey went on walks sometimes. Just by himself, roaming the South Side with no destination in mind. He’d be gone for hours, getting home late, but Mandy didn’t ask questions.

It was a Wednesday when Mandy hesitantly broached a new topic.

“I’m... I’m seeing someone,” she said, watching his expression carefully.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. We met a couple months ago. His name’s Santiago. He’s nice.”

“Nice, huh? Like the last one?” Mickey asked.

Mandy flushed in embarrassment, making Mickey want to punch himself in the face.

“Shit,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. You like him?”

“He wants to introduce me to his mom,” Mandy said with a little smile.

“Sounds serious,” he commented.

“I think he wants it to be. I dunno.” Mandy’s smile faded. “I don’t have the best track record with guys.”

“I wanna meet him,” Mickey said abruptly.

“Why? You gonna threaten him?”

“Course not.” Okay, that wasn’t true, but his sister didn’t need to know that. “If he’s gonna introduce you to his mom, he can handle a meetin’ with your fuckin’ brother, right?”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” Mandy told him in a noncommittal tone.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday afternoon, Mickey sat in that same restaurant he and Ian had gone to the night they’d had their first major blowout. At least he didn’t have any happy memories associated with this place; he hadn’t gone to the fucking Kash and Grab in over a month because he couldn’t be in the place without thinking about the redhead.

“Mick, hey!”

The sound of Mandy’s voice jerked Mickey out of his musings. Looking up, he saw his sister heading towards him, a dark haired Hispanic-looking guy in tow. Mickey stayed seated, weighing the man up, keeping his expression aloof.

“Santiago, this is my brother,” Mandy said once they’d reached the table. She turned to Mickey and gave him a threatening look that her boyfriend couldn’t see. “Mick, this is Santiago.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Santiago said, extending his hand.

“Yeah? Mandy only told me ‘bout you a couple days ago,” Mickey replied, ignoring the other man’s outstretched hand.

Mandy was scowling at him. Before she could say anything, Santiago replied smoothly. “Mandy told me you were going through a breakup. Probably didn’t want to upset you.” While he was speaking, he was pulling Mandy’s chair out for her.

 _Huh. A gentleman._ That didn’t mean anything, though. Dahmer’d been a Christian, and he’d kept people in his fridge.

Most of the meal was spent with Santiago making polite conversation, Mickey being an asshole, and Mandy trying to play referee. Still, despite the snark he was throwing out, Mickey was paying careful attention to the way the guy opposite him was treating Mandy. The casual way Santiago would brush his hand across Mandy’s, or the intimate little smiles they’d share when they thought Mickey wasn’t looking; it all reeked of a guy who was completely whipped.

Still, that didn’t change what would happen to the fucker if he broke Mandy’s heart.

Waiting until Mandy had gone to the restroom, Mickey leaned forward, and looked Santiago dead in the eye.

“You make my sister cry, an’ I’ll bury you down by the river in pieces, you hear me?” he said without preamble.

Santiago didn’t flinch. Instead, he gave an easy shrug. “Fair enough.”

Okay, Mickey could maybe tolerate this guy dating Mandy.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

Standing at the podium in the basement of that same church, Mickey saw a couple of people exchanging nonplussed looks. He couldn’t say he blamed them; Mickey had been well known for his disdain for religion. Add his recitation of the Prayer of Serenity to his nearly six-month absence from meetings, and people had to be wondering where his head was at.

“So, uh, I finally get it,” Mickey said after a moment. “Not the whole God thing. But... tryin’ to let go of the shit you can’t change.” Pausing, Mickey tried to get his thoughts in order. It’d been almost a year since he’d found Ian passed out in the parking lot. In that time, he’d felt guilt, hope, fear, and a kind of happiness he’d never experienced before.

But in the space of a couple hours, it’d all been ripped away.

“I fucked up,” he forced himself to continue. “Said and did things I shouldn’t have; missed out on tellin’ someone I cared about how I felt about ‘em. And that’s on me.” Again, Mickey fell silent. Part of this was for him; voluntarily sharing what was going on in his head, proving to himself that he could do it. Another part of it was offering a sort of penance, for missing so many meetings in the first place. Finally, it was Mickey’s way of making amends with his sponsor, who’d always been unfailingly patient with him.

Meeting Lewis’s gaze, Mickey took a deep breath before soldiering on.

“But the hardest part was... acceptin’ that the people I love fuck up, too. That I can’t change it, and that it ain’t my fault. That’s, uh, that’s what took me so long to get my head round. And I think I’m sorta there now. It won’t always be easy, an’ I’ll probably get my head stuck up my ass a couple times. But I’m gettin’ better at lettin’ go.”

With that, Mickey stepped down from the podium, and returned to his seat. He wanted to say something to Lewis, but the older man was staring intently at his interlinked fingers; not glancing up when Mickey walked passed him.

Mickey felt a slight pang over that. Because while he hadn’t attended his meetings in almost six months, he hadn’t spoken to his sponsor for even longer than that. After their fight about Ian, Mickey hadn’t spoken to Lewis for weeks, his pride making it difficult for him to forgive the older man for being right.

Once the meeting was over, Mickey waited outside the church for his sponsor to come out. He was experiencing a sense of déjà vu. His eyes kept straying to the parking lot, as though expecting to catch a glimpse of a tall, thin figure lurking in the dark.

The sound of Lewis’s voice calling out a goodbye to someone brought Mickey’s attention back to the church entrance.

Quickly, before he could pussy out, Mickey hurried after his sponsor.

“Lewis, hey, wait up!”

The older man came to a slow stop before turning to face Mickey. Lewis’s expression was guarded, but somehow he still managed to put up a friendly front.

“Hey, Mick. How’s it goin’?”

“Good,” Mickey said uncomfortably. “You?”

“Good, good.”

Standing there awkwardly in the cold, Mickey felt like an ass. It would be so easy to shrug this off, to hope that that _time heals all wounds_ bullshit would work here.

“You wanna grab a coffee?” he blurted out instead. “Just... catch up? I know I’ve been a dick—”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Lewis interrupted apologetically, “I promised Selma I’d be home early.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mickey shrugged. “Maybe next time.”

Struggling to mask his disappointment, Mickey turned around to head to his car. From behind him, he heard Lewis’s gusty sigh, and his tired voice calling out, “Wait.”

Glancing back at his sponsor, Mickey waited in hopeful silence for the older man to continue.

“I guess I got time for coffee,” Lewis grumbled.

They ended up at a McDonalds; drinking the swill they called coffee. The place used to be a diner, manned by ancient waitresses with wilting perms. In their place stood a brightly lit counter with a sullen, pimply-faced teenager punching in the orders.

Grabbing the Styrofoam cups, Mickey headed over to the table where Lewis was sitting. The older man’s glasses were perched at the end of his nose, and he was scowling down at his cell phone.

“Damn thing,” he huffed as he pecked at the keys.

Mickey waited patiently for the older man to finish up with his text before speaking. Leaning forward, he forced himself to get the words out.

“I’m sorry, man. For everything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lewis told him, waving a hand dismissively.

Mickey flinched. “You were just tryin’ to help,” he continued doggedly, “and I was—”

“In love,” Lewis interrupted. “Never been a man alive who didn’t act like a damn fool when he’s in love.”

Stunned, Mickey started at his sponsor in silence.

“An’ I accept your apology,” Lewis said after a minute. Shaking his head, he added cream and sugar to his coffee. “So, where’s this boyfriend of yours? You two work it out?”

“He OD’d,” Mickey answered quietly.

“God Almighty,” Lewis exclaimed, looking up from his stirring. “He alright?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so,” Mickey answered. “He’s with his family right now.”

“You been to see him?” the older man asked.

Mickey shook his head, taking a big gulp of his too-hot coffee.

His sponsor stared at him intently before changing the subject. “Tell me what else is new.”

What was meant to be a ten, maybe fifteen-minute conversation stretched on for almost two hours. Mickey told his sponsor about Yev, explaining how smart the kid was, and how proud Mickey was of him. He had Lewis laughing over the near constant stutter-step that was his relationship with Svetlana and her girlfriend ( _fuckin’ girlfriend!_ ), Nika. He expressed his relief that Mandy had finally found someone who treated her right.

“And, uh, I got an apprenticeship,” Mickey said after a second’s hesitation.

“What? Mick, that’s great!” A wide smile spread across Lewis’s wrinkled face. “Doin’ what?”

“Carpentry. Main guy’s last apprentice split, so he asked if I wanted the job. Wants me to get my GED, though.” Mickey pulled a face at that last bit.

His sponsor’s grin had brightened his entire expression by now. Reaching out, Lewis put his hand on Mickey’s forearm.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Nodding jerkily, Mickey asked the older man about his wife. The praise had embarrassed him, but while Lewis was talking about Selma’s determination to get his cholesterol down, Mickey held onto the warmth it had created in his chest.

_He’d never made anyone proud before._

_\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Spring had sprung, and Mickey found himself in the last place he would’ve expected: in a school on parent-teacher night. He didn’t think he’d ever been to one of these. Most of his teachers had gone through his brothers first, and recognising the futility of requesting a meeting with Terry, they hadn’t even bothered when Mickey had passed through their classrooms.

Standing next to him was Yev. The kid wore a sheepish expression, and was shifting from foot to foot; he kept flicking anxious looks at his mother. Mickey didn’t know what the kid was so fuckin’ nervous about. After hearing about the incident at the school, Svetlana had immediately placed the blame for the whole thing at Mickey’s feet.

Pacing back and forth in her loafers, donned as part of her ‘respectable’ getup, Lana kept glaring at him, muttering irritably under her breath in Russian.

“No one knows what the fuck you’re sayin’,” he told her as she passed him.

“She says she should’ve bashed your head in when she had the chance,” Yev whispered with an apologetic wince.

Mickey raised his brows at that. _And he was supposed to be the bad influence here?_

Before he could say anything, though, he heard a disapproving huff coming from across the room. Turning his attention to the family occupying the only seats in the room, Mickey could already see how this was going to go.

The man and woman opposite them were both blond haired, blue-eyed, and well dressed. They looked like the stereotypical high school sweethearts after fifteen years of marriage. Their spawn, who looked to be a year or two older than Yev, sat meekly between them. The kid looked just like his parents, except for the black eye he was sporting.

A black eye Yev had given him.

Mickey couldn’t stop the smirk that crept across his face at the thought.

“Good evening, Claire, Daniel. It’s so good to see you both again.” A woman with mid-length brown hair and a pantsuit entered the room, and greeted the other couple warmly. Glancing over, her voice was curt as she addressed Mickey and Lana. “We’re ready for you now.”

Once everyone was assembled in the teacher’s office, and introductions were made, the teacher—Mrs Coleson—looked between Mickey and Lana, and the other kid’s parents, the Walshes.

“Mr and Mrs Milkovich, we’re concerned about Yev-Yevgeny’s behaviour,” Mrs Coleson began, stumbling over Yev’s name a little. “He’s displaying violent tendencies towards the other children.”

“I’m sorry,” Lana replied in a tight voice. “I try to teach him better than this.”

“Yeah, we can see you’re doing a great job with that,” Mr Walsh muttered.

Mickey briefly considered following Yev’s example with the older Walsh.

Ignoring the snide comment, Mrs Coleson continued. “I think it’s necessary for your son to apologise to Joshua. Also, he’ll be receiving a week’s detention.”

When all Lana did was nod her head in agreement, Mickey decided to keep his mouth shut. Until the teacher’s next comment.

“It’s absolutely essential that we create a secure learning environment for the children. They need to feel safe.”

Mickey bristled.

“You were Yev’s teacher last year, too, right?” he asked, speaking for the first time.

“I was,” Mrs Coleson replied. “Which is why I was so surprised at your son’s outburst.”

“Uh-huh. Tell me somethin’, he come to you about the other kids messin’ with him?”

“He... he did mention that he was having a difficult time making friends. He said that sometimes the other children were, uh, were being unkind to him.”

“Yeah? What’d you say to him?”

“I don’t see what this has to do—” Mr Walsh started.

“Shut the fuck up, man. I wasn’t talkin’ to you,” Mickey snapped. Turning back to the teacher, Mickey asked again. “What did you tell my kid when he said he was bein’ picked on?”

“Children come to me with problems every day, Mr Milkovich. I can’t remember what my response is each time.”

Mickey could feel Svetlana’s gaze on him. Her eyes were narrowed, and if Mickey didn’t know any better, he’d say she had no fuckin’ clue what he was talking about.

_Oh, she was gonna love this._

“Lemme jog your memory: you told him bullyin’ is a part of life.”

“What?” Lana exploded. Narrowing her eyes, she rounded on the blanching teacher. “Every day, Yevgeny comes home from school, miserable. You do nothing. One time, Yevgeny defends himself. You call us in!”

“My Joshua would never hurt a fly!” Mrs Walsh protested angrily. “That little thug just came up and hit him for no good reason.”

“Yeah, alright, let’s just say my kid was stupid enough to punch out some kid who probably outweighs him by thirty pounds for fun. So what? Kids’ve been knocking Yev around for nearly two years now, and fuck all’s been done about it. But Junior here gets a measly black eye, and we get called in?”

“I-I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Mrs Coleson stammered.

“You think so?” Lana cut in. “You think I don’t see bruises and scrapes? You make a safe environment for this boy. You want Yevgeny to apologise. Why does my son not get safe environment? Where are the other children who hurt him, to apologise?”

“Yev’s not apologising for dick,” Mickey said at the end of his ex-wife’s tirade. “And he ain’t sittin’ in detention. Until you start doin’ your fuckin’ job, my kid can deck all the bullies he wants.”

Turning to his grinning son, Mickey jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Let’s go,” he muttered.

Allowing Lana and Yev to go ahead of him, they walked silently out of the office, out of the school, to the car. Svetlana looked at him over the vehicle, grudging respect on her face. Waiting until Yev had climbed into the back seat, she spoke in a soft voice.

“Looks like you are not complete asshole, after all.”

And that was probably the closest he and Svetlana would ever come to being friends.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey had just arrived at his apartment when his phone rang. He’d dropped Yev and Lana off at their place, and come straight home. He wondered if someone had left something in the car.

Not bothering to check his caller ID, he flipped his phone open. “Who forgot what?” he asked as he unlocked the door.

“Hey, Mick,” a familiar voice said.


	24. It Took a War Just to Bring Us Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it turns out that I can be kind of dumb. When writing Skylight I, for reasons unknown, only put the chapter numbers at the end. Weird, right? So that means I miscounted how many chapters there actually are. Thus, there will be 27 chapters, and not 26. Sorry for any confusion.

Ian was pacing back and forth in his room. It’d been a year since he’d landed in the hospital, and things were good. Great, even. But as he’d recovered, there had been something gnawing at the back of his mind.

He needed to talk to Mickey.

The way he’d left things between them... even if nothing else came of their relationship, Ian knew he had to speak to the other man.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he quickly punched in Mickey’s number. While Ian had never had his own phone, he had memorised Mickey and Mandy’s numbers for in case of an emergency.

One ring, a second; after the fifth, Ian considered just hanging up when he heard Mickey’s voice.

“Who forgot what?” he asked, sounding relaxed.

It felt so good to hear him. It took Ian a second to force the words past his suddenly dry throat.

“Hey, Mick.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. A belated attack of nerves had Ian’s hands trembling.

“Mick, you there?” he asked after a moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here, man.” Mickey’s voice sounded slightly hoarse. “Uh, what-what’s up?”

Ian mentally scrambled. Why had he actually called? Yeah, he needed to talk to Mickey, but the things he wanted to say wouldn’t really work over the phone. Seizing on the first thing that came to mind, Ian blurted out, “I still have your keys.”

“What?” Mickey sounded bewildered.

“Your keys, y’know, for your apartment,” Ian clarified.

“Oh.”

There was another moment of silence.

“So, can I-can I have ‘em back?” Mickey asked at last.

“Yeah. Sure, I’ll send them through in the mail, if you want,” Ian answered, feeling a little crestfallen. Well, it was his own damn fault; he brought the friggin’ things up. And how much else was there to say about a set of keys?

“That’d be good. Or, maybe I could... get ‘em from you. Like, we could meet up... or somethin’.”

It felt like Ian’s heart faltered before starting up double time.

“That sounds great,” he said, trying to keep it casual. “Are you busy this weekend? We could grab some coffee, catch up a little.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s... that’d work. Where d’you wanna meet up? You’re in Michigan now, right?” Mickey checked.

“I’m living with Fiona and Jimmy for now. How ‘bout I come over to your place, and we go from there?”

“You sure? Mickey asked. “That’s a long fuckin’ trip.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I was planning on coming to see Lip, anyway,” Ian told him. Okay, not really, but he figured he could probably head over to his brother’s place if shit got weird with Mickey.

The other man fell silent at the mention of Lip. There was another long pause before Mickey spoke again.

“So, uh, I’ll see you Saturday? Two, two-thirty sound okay?”

“Great. It’s a date,” Ian said without thinking. He immediately wanted to slam his head into something.

There was more silence, the trend of awkwardness continuing as neither of them made to hang up.

“Okay, bye,” Mickey said before abruptly disconnecting.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian spent the entire train ride twitching with nerves. Drumming his fingers on the edge of his seat, tugging at his shirt, messing his hair; the part of him that wasn’t struggling not to barf was mentally berating him.

 _What did he think was gonna happen?_ that small voice asked. _That they were gonna kiss and make up?_ Mickey probably wanted the face-to-face meeting so he could look Ian in the eye as he told him what an asshole he was.

Instead of forcing him to lower his expectations, though, the little voice just made Ian more nervous.

And waiting forty five minutes outside Mickey’s apartment wasn’t helping, either.

He was just about to give up when his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Christ, Ian, I’m sorry,” Mickey said as soon as he answered. “You still at my place?”

“I was just thinking about leaving,” Ian admitted.

“Just wait, okay? I’ll be there in five.”

With that, Mickey hung up.

A few minutes later, Ian could hear footsteps bounding up the stairs. Glancing up from where he was leaning against the railing, Ian caught his first glimpse of Mickey in almost a year.

Ian found that all he could do was stare at him.

After a moment of looking around wildly, Mickey almost did a double take when he noticed Ian standing there. The other man froze, seeming to get lost in his own staring.

“Hey,” Ian said at last.

Hey.” Mickey stood there for a moment longer before giving his head a quick shake, as though to clear it. He moved toward Ian, hurrying to explain, “Yev was goin’ to some birthday party in the park, but some fuckin’ perv was wavin’ his dick round.” As Mickey spoke, he was unlocking his door. “Ended up cartin’ a car full of kids to Burger King,” he continued, sounding harried.

Ian stepped into the apartment behind Mickey, smiling at the mental image of the other man playing chauffer to a bunch of second graders.

“What was that like?” he asked.

“Fuckin’ noisy,” Mickey grumbled.

Looking around the apartment for a moment, as though he’d forgotten something, Mickey’s shoulders suddenly slumped. He raked his hands through his hair before turning to Ian.

“You mind if we do this here? I just need some quiet right about now.”

“Uh, sure. Whatever you want,” Ian replied, shrugging.

Glancing around the apartment while Mickey busied himself in the kitchen, Ian noticed that the apartment had changed some. For one thing, Mickey’d finally gotten rid of his couch, replacing it with one that was clearly second hand, but nowhere near as worn as the old one. He also spotted a few stray toys and brightly coloured children’s books. It looked like Yev was playing a bigger role in Mickey’s life.

Ian wondered how the kid was doing.

“Yev got invited to a birthday party?” he asked as Mickey handed him a coke. Taking a seat on the new couch, Ian watched as a grin spread across the other man’s face.

“Yeah, he made a couple friends after he decked one of the bullies at school,” Mickey told him proudly.

“He punched another kid?” Ian thought about it for a second before nodding approvingly. “I’m glad to hear it. I worried about him.”

They fell silent again. Ian shifted slightly on the couch, the tension between them spiking as they both struggled to find something to say. Somehow, it’d been easier when Mickey’d first found him; at least then, with Ian’s attempts at staying sober, they’d had something to talk about.

Ian took the time to really look at Mickey. The other man’s face no longer bore the marks of stress and sleepless nights. He was carrying himself with a new confidence; it wasn’t that bluster from when they were kids, but he no longer looked beaten. Instead, Mickey appeared to be happy.

Ian wondered if them doing this was a good idea.

“So, uh, what you been doin’?” Mickey finally asked.

“I’ve been clean for almost a year,” Ian told him, seizing on the chance to break the silence. “Ever since... Yeah, I’ve been doing good. And I got my GED a couple weeks ago. Plan is to go to community college, get my certification as a personal trainer.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Yeah. I’m hopin’ the personal trainer gig will pay enough to get me out of Fi’s place,” Ian told him.

“They givin’ you a hard time?” Mickey asked, turning on the couch a little to get a better look at him.

“Jimmy wasn’t too happy to have me there in the beginning, but it’s gotten better. But, uh, it’s not about that, y’know? I wanna be in a place that’s... mine.”

Mickey nodded his head in understanding.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Ian said quickly. He took a gulp of his drink to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

“The keys?” Mickey guessed. “”Cause I wasn’t too worried ‘bout you havin’ ‘em.”

“No. Um... shit, I dunno where to start,” Ian admitted. “I just-I feel like I owe you a thank you, for everything you did last year. And a huge fuckin’ apology.”

Mickey blanched at the words. Getting off the couch, he ran his hands over his jeans in a nervous motion.

“You don’t owe me nothin’,” he mumbled, turning his back on Ian.

“Mick...”

“Gallagher, seriously, I wasn’t doin’ it so you’d come back to kiss my ass.”

“You got me through some pretty heavy shit,” Ian told him starkly. “I dunno if I’d have gotten through all this without your help.”

“Wasn’t there for the important parts,” Mickey told him quietly. He began rifling through his pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

“You finding me passed out in the cold wasn’t important?” Ian asked. “You bringing me back here to take care of me; that was no big deal?” Feeling a surge of anger, he did his best to push it back.

“No, ‘cause you still went back to the heroin,” Mickey snapped back.

Mickey regretted the words as soon as he said them. He’d been working so _goddamn hard_ to put this behind him, to stop with the could’ve/would’ve/should’ves. But looking at Ian, seeing him healthy and strong again, the way he used to be, reminded Mickey of what he hadn’t been able to do for the other man.

He opened his mouth to apologise, but Ian beat him to it.

“I’m sorry about that, Mick,” he said quietly.

“Nah, man... Don’t... Shit happens,” Mickey replied, sounding lame even to his own ears. Feeling awkward, he wracked his brains for a way to change the subject. Unable to think of anything, he pulled out a cigarette. Before he could light it, though, Ian spoke again.

“Shit happens, huh? Shit like you not being there when I woke up in the hospital?”

Mickey froze with the cigarette halfway to his lips.

“You needed to get better,” he said after a lengthy pause. “Didn’t know if you could do that with me there.”

“God, you are so full of shit!” Ian exploded. The redhead’s face was flushed with anger as he got off the couch, too. “Lip gives you a hard time and you just fuckin’ walk away? Leave me some note, only two lines long? No explanation, not a goddamn thing!”

Mickey’s temper flared despite his efforts to keep it in check.

“He’s your family, an’ he didn’t fuckin’ want me there! The fuck should I have done, huh?” he yelled.

“You should’ve tried harder! You should’ve told Lip to go fuck himself!” As quickly as Ian’s outburst had started, the fight seemed to drain out of him suddenly. “You should’ve stayed with me.”

In that moment, words escaped Mickey. Staring at the hurt expression on the other man’s face, he did the only thing he could think of.

Striding forward, Mickey grabbed the front of Ian’s shirt, using it to pull him down to Mickey’s height. Not giving the redhead any chance to react, Mickey reached up, pressing his lips against Ian’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know this chapter was kind of short, but I promise to make it up to you tomorrow.


	25. Sometimes It's A Good Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all can head on over to thank grumblesandmumbles for this. Her shaming me for watching Old Spices ads while leaving you guys hanging pushed me to do an early update. Christina, I expect an ode to my awesomeness at some point in the near future.

Ian froze for an instant when Mickey’s lips met his, and then he was kissing the other man back. Dismissing all thoughts of the consequences, Ian allowed himself to revel in feeling Mickey’s body against him. He cupped Mickey’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones.

The contact was unexpectedly sweet, and Ian found he wanted more.

He could feel Mickey’s hands moving over him, sliding along his arms, caressing his shoulders, creeping under his shirt to trace his fingers up Ian’s spine. It was like Mickey was refamiliarising himself with Ian’s body, and Ian was struck by the overwhelming urge to do the same with the other man.

Releasing Mickey’s face, Ian allowed his own hands to explore. He felt Mickey’s belly quiver under his touch, heard a sharp inhalation as he slid his palms around to cup Mickey’s ass.

The other man pulled away slightly, breaking the kiss.

“Take this off,” Mickey ordered on a gasp, jerking at Ian’s shirt impatiently.

“I will if you do,” Ian replied.

The words had barely left him before Mickey was stripping off his shirt, tossing the thing carelessly to the side. Taking the other man in, all Ian wanted to do was to touch, to savour. Quickly following Mickey’s example, he removed his shirt.

Mickey reached for him, but Ian caught hold of his wrists to keep the dark haired man from touching him.

“Give me a sec, okay?” he murmured thickly.

Drawing Mickey’s hands down to his sides, Ian gave them a little pat, indicating to the other man that he should leave them there. He allowed his fingertips to trail over Mickey’s forearms, across his collarbones, down to his pectorals; there Ian thumbed Mickey’s nipples. Ian watched as the other man swallowed hard.

Dredging up memories of the past, Ian allowed himself to remember how Mickey liked to be touched. It was a heady mixture of the old and the new, knowing what would make Mickey whimper while relishing in sounds he hadn’t heard in years.

Fingers continuing to gently pinch and tug at Mickey’s nipples, Ian ducked his head, placing tiny nibbling kisses along the arch of Mickey’s throat.

“Ian,” he whispered. His hands came up to rest on the bare skin on Ian’s back. It felt so good, made him greedy.

“Touch me,” Ian demanded, giving the other man’s nipples a slightly harder pinch.

Mickey hissed in a sharp breath, but readily complied. His hands smoothing over straining muscles, fingernails scraping lightly—that little bit of not-quite pain made Ian hard. Sinking to his knees in front of the other man, Ian’s lips and hands moved lower. He sucked and licked at sensitive skin while his hands worked at the fly of Mickey’s jeans.

He was just about to start tugging the things down Mickey’s hips when the other man gasped out, “Wait.”

That single, breathless word froze Ian in place. Steeling himself, he looked up to meet Mickey’s gaze. His cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated, and those full lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath.

Ian wanted nothing more than to get between Mickey’s legs to suck him off.

“What?” Ian asked in a rough voice.

“Bed,” Mickey forced the words out. “Want you on a bed.”

“Then lead the way.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Acutely aware of the weight of Ian’s stare, Mickey headed down the short hallway and into the bedroom. He had this jittery feeling in his stomach, a potent combination of nerves and anticipation, and he found it hard to meet the other man’s green eyes as he turned around.

The redhead’s gaze was intent, not seeming to miss anything. The scar on the inside of Mickey’s elbow, the light dusting of freckles across his shoulders, the mole on his right side: Ian took it all in.

“Take your pants off,” Ian ordered.

The words froze Mickey in place, edging that feeling in his belly closer to nerves.

“What?”

“I wanna look at you,” Ian told him.

Doing his best to ignore the creeping tendrils of insecurity, Mickey hesitantly did as he was told. He kicked off his shoes, worked his jeans and underwear down over his hips, past his thighs and calves, to the floor. Stepping out of the discarded clothes, Mickey finally looked up again.

Ian didn’t say anything as his eyes roamed over Mickey’s body. Stepping forward slowly, Ian knelt in front of Mickey again. This time, he could feel the other man’s breath against his cock, and the sensation made him shiver.

But instead of feeling Ian’s mouth on his dick, Mickey felt the Ian's lips move on to other places: his inner thighs, his hipbone, the other man’s tongue circling his navel. Long fingers traced the back of Mickey’s legs, lightly tickling the back of his knees before moving to squeeze his ass.

The other man’s slow, unhurried pace was making Mickey crazy. He bit out a surprised curse when Ian gently sucked on one of his balls.

“Christ, Gallagher, that feels good,” he gasped out when Ian did it again, a little harder this time.

“Condoms and lube,” Ian said as his fingers crept between Mickey’s ass cheeks. “Where are they?”

“There,” Mickey said, gesturing at the bedside table. “I’ll-I’ll get ‘em,” he continued, fighting past incoherence.

“No.” Ian’s hands gripped his hips tight, keeping Mickey from stepping back. “I want you on your hands and knees. On the bed. Now.”

Ian abruptly released him, making Mickey stagger back a little. Desperately trying to get his bearings, he walked over to the bed on unsteady legs, and got onto all fours. He could hear Ian moving behind him, the sound of things being carelessly shifted around in the drawer almost drowning out his heavy breathing.

Finally, the redhead found what he was looking for. Ian moved to stand behind Mickey, dropping the condoms and lube on the bed. Warm hands followed the curve of Mickey’s ass, shaping and squeezing, while the other man’s thumb brushed teasingly over his entrance.

Instinctively, Mickey arched into the contact, releasing a helpless whimper for more.

“Do that again,” Ian whispered as he leaned over to place a light kiss on the centre of Mickey’s back. His breath fluttered over Mickey’s overheated skin, making him tremble.

“What?” he muttered distractedly. Mickey was pushing his ass back, silently begging Ian to take that tormenting thumb and push it deeper inside him.

“That sound you made just now,” the redhead said in a hoarse voice, “when I did this.” His thumb pressed harder against Mickey’s hole, almost slipping inside him. “Yeah, like that,” Ian said when another plaintive moan escaped Mickey’s throat.

Lips trailed lower as hands spread Mickey’s ass cheeks apart.

“Ian... _fuck_ ,” Mickey gasped out as the other man ran his tongue over him, from his perineum to his entrance. Ian then gently blew cool air over the damp skin. “Need you to hurry the fuck up,” Mickey panted, his body writhing helplessly.

“And I need this to last.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey made that sound again, the one that made Ian’s dick throb, and threatened to push him over the edge. Keeping a firm grip on the other man’s ass cheeks, Ian ducked his head and ran his tongue over Mickey’s hole again. Relishing the way Mickey’s hips bucked back against him, Ian lost himself to wringing as many pleasure-filled moans from Mickey as possible.

“Gonna... Jesus Christ... _do that again_... Please, Ian, I’m gonna come,” Mickey muttered between gasps for air. His back was arching and flexing, one hand moving desperately over his cock.

Pulling away from Mickey after one last lingering lick, Ian pushed down on the small of the other man’s back, forcing him down to the mattress; he then took a hard grip on Mickey’s hips, encouraging him to sprawl on his back.

Glazed blue eyes met his, and Ian noticed that there was a tiny bead of blood on Mickey’s bottom lip. Instinctively, Ian ducked his head, his tongue flicking across the his mouth. Then, unable to stop himself, Ian drew that full lip between his, sucking on it gently.

Ian could feel Mickey’s arms wrapping around him, the other man bending his knees so that Ian’s hips were cradled between Mickey’s thighs. Without thought, Ian rutted against the man beneath him, control beginning to fray at the edges.

“Take these... pants... get ‘em off,” Mickey demanded between kisses.

Pausing, Ian’s lust fogged brain sluggishly weighed up the pros and cons of that idea. He’d have to stop kissing Mickey to do it; but, if he did, he’d be able to feel warm, naked skin brushing against his.

No contest.

Crawling off the other man and off the bed, Ian decided to kill two birds with one stone. He tossed the tube of lubricant at Mickey.

Meeting Mickey’s confused gaze, Ian told him, “You’ve got ‘til my pants are off, and the rubber’s on before I wreck that tight ass.”

Blue’s eyes flared with heat; quickly, Mickey flipped the cap of the lube open before squeezing liberal amounts of the stuff onto his fingers.

Ian’s hands dropped to his fly, but he stood there, frozen for a moment. Watching as Mickey slipped one finger into his ass, and then another, Ian felt like he couldn’t breathe. As he was opening himself up, the other man looked Ian in the eye, and smirked.

That snapped him out of it.

Scrabbling at his jeans, he kicked the things aside, and hastily tolled the condom over his aching dick. All the while, Mickey was sliding his fingers in and out of his ass, giving the occasional hiss of pleasure as he found his prostate.

Tired of waiting, Ian got up on the bed again, hooked his arms under Mickey’s knees, and jerked the other man closer. He heard Mickey give a breathless laugh at the impatient movement; the dirty smile on his face made Ian’s whole body throb with want.

He’d just positioned the head of his cock at Mickey’s entrance, was on the verge of sliding all the way inside him, when Ian looked up to meet the other man’s eyes. Expression unexpectedly sombre, Mickey licked his lips before speaking.

“I really—” A deep breath. “I really missed you, Gallagher. Don’t... don’t leave me again, ‘kay?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Ian fought back against a sudden swell of emotion. Tearing his gaze away from Mickey’s, he glanced down to where his dick was poised at the other man’s hole. Blocking everything out, Ian slowly pushed himself inside Mickey.

The feel of those tight muscles gripping his cock made Ian’s eyes roll back in his head. Thrusting forward once, twice, Ian waited until he heard Mickey’s guttural moan before he began fucking Mickey harder, a little faster.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Ian rested his forehead against Mickey’s. Gasping against each other’s mouths, he felt the dark haired man reach up to rake his nails down Ian’s back, before grabbing his ass to pull him in deeper.

Ian’s control snapped.

A harsh groan, and then Ian was pushing himself up so that he was kneeling between Mickey’s thighs. Taking a second to push the other man’s knees to his chest, Ian quickly set a hard, pounding rhythm. The little sounds being torn from Mickey egged him on, and those were soon joined by the slap of their bodies coming together.

Panting, gasping, cursing, moaning, Mickey had been reduced to babbling incoherence.

“ _Ian_... Jesus, I’ve needed—” His words were cut off by a sharp cry. “You. Missed you, this... _ungh_...”

Ian had barely heard a word Mickey had said, too lost in the tight clasp of the other man’s body to register much of anything. But it was that last little grunt that pushed him over the edge.

Hips jerking erratically, Ian came with a shuddering gasp.

It took all of Ian’s remaining strength to keep from collapsing on top of Mickey. Gripping the other man’s thighs, he watched as Mickey jerked his cock. Brow furrowed, cheeks flushed, Mickey’s entire body was straining towards orgasm.

“I wanna see you come for me, Mick,” Ian whispered.

A sharp twist of Mickey’s wrist, and his thumb slid over the head of his dick. Stiffening, Mickey came; Ian could feel the other man’s muscles tightening around him, and his own body quaked at the feeling.

He was limp with pleasure by this point; Ian pulled out and scooted down the bed some until he was able to duck his head down to take Mickey’s spent cock into his mouth. The other man shuddered, letting out an explosive, “ _Christ_ ,” as Ian licked him clean.

Finally, Ian collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. Then, before he could stop them, thoughts of the consequences of what they’d just done crashed down on him.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

While Ian went to the bathroom to get rid of the condom, Mickey lazily stretched his aching body across the bed, and tried to catch his breath.

_Goddamn, that’d been good._

Mickey was just about to let himself drift off when Ian re-entered the room. The redhead was holding onto a thin brown envelope.

“What’s that?” Mickey asked around a yawn.

“Test results. For STDs, and stuff,” Ian clarified at Mickey’s blank look. “I got tested while I was in rehab, but these were done... before.”

Easing himself onto the bed beside Mickey, Ian leaned against the headboard as he opened the envelope. He nodded as he read over the letter; Mickey made no move to look at it.

“I had something. Course of antibiotics cleared it up, though,” Ian told him, affecting a casual shrug. He offered the page for Mickey to look at.

Brushing the letter aside, Mickey rolled over so he could see the other man better. “So, you’re okay now?” he asked, his earlier laziness giving way to concern.

“What, you worried I won’t be able to get it up for round two?”

“I wasn’t askin’ if your dick still works, Gallagher. I’m askin’ if you’re okay.”

Ian stared at him, the bravado he’d been using to cover up fracturing.

“Getting there,” the redhead said softly.

Folding up the letter with his test results, Ian allowed the envelope to flutter to the floor. They sat there in companionable silence for a while, so long that Mickey felt himself drifting off again. He was just reaching for his pillow when Ian’s voice pulled him back.

“What just happened here?” the other man asked suddenly.

Mickey let out an exasperated huff.

“The fuck you talkin’ about?” he grumbled, squinting at Ian through bleary eyes.

“Y’know,” Ian gestured between them, “with us. Was this us getting things out of our systems? Or was it more of a ‘I-was-horny-and-you-were-here’ situation?”

Mickey didn’t answer; sitting up slowly, he watched the redhead guardedly.

“I’m not picking a fight,” Ian continued when Mickey still didn’t say anything. “I just wanna know where we stand.”

Sensing that Ian was beginning to get impatient, Mickey forced himself to speak.

“What I said just now...” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “That wasn’t just the sex talkin’.”

“You mean the part where you asked me to do it again?” the redhead asked with a teasing grin. “’Cause I figured as much.”

A flush crept across Mickey’s cheeks. Ignoring the embarrassment Ian’s words caused, he looked the other man in the eye as he replied.

“The part where I said I missed you,” Mickey said starkly. “I meant it. I miss watchin’ stupid tv shows with you, an’ arguin’ with you over crap neither of us really gives a shit about. I just... I miss you.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian didn’t know what to say. This level of honesty from Mickey was unprecedented. Watching as the dark haired man turned his attention to his hands, nervously running his thumb over the tattoos on the knuckles of his left hand, Ian wondered how to respond.

A part of him wondered if maybe there was too much between them for this to work. Like, maybe all the shit that’d happened between them was the universe’s way of telling them it wasn’t meant to be.

Ian didn’t care. He wanted this chance.

“I miss you, too,” Ian said after a long moment. “But... how would this work? I mean, it’s not like you wanna date—”

“Says who?” Mickey interrupted.

“ _You_ wanna date?” Ian asked, staring at the other man incredulously.

Mickey looked uncomfortable; he was rubbing at his tattoos with more vigour now.

“Never been on a date before,” he mumbled, “but I figure it wouldn’t be so bad with you.”

Ian was stunned. They sat there, Ian staring at Mickey, not bothering to hide his smile; Mickey was determinedly looking anywhere but at Ian.

“Hey, Mick... you feel like goin’ on a date sometime?”


	26. To Have Someone to Come Home to

The summer passed in a happy blur. And, to the surprise of everyone around them, Mickey and Ian... dated. It was harder than Mickey would’ve anticipated. Ian worked irregular hours, and Mickey worked long ones. But they found a way to make it work. On weekends, and their rare days off, Mickey and Ian were together. Sure, travelling was a bitch, but it was worth it.

There was only one problem: Mickey had to deal with Ian’s family.

Labour Day was coming up, and the Gallaghers were having some sort of get-together. And the other man expected Mickey to attend. The asshole had brought it up—again—in the middle of _First Blood_ , waiting until Mickey was in his happy place before springing it on him.

“Not gonna fuckin’ happen, man,” Mickey told Ian after he’d asked about it.

They’d been leaning against each other, watching as Stallone had to deal with that dickhead sheriff. Any relaxation he’d managed to achieve quickly dissolved at the mention of spending time with the rest of the Gallagher clan. He pulled away to glare at the redhead.

“Tough shit,” Ian said calmly. “I already told ‘em you’re coming.”

Mickey let out a sound of deep aggravation. “Christ, Gallagher, I told you—”

“It’s what couples do, Mick.”

That shut him up. He scowled at the other man.

Heaving a sigh, Ian scooted closer on the couch until their knees were touching.

“I don’t get why this is such a big deal,” Ian said, a touch of exasperation in his voice. “It’ll be fine. We’ll eat, and mess round by the pool, and hang out.”

“With your family.”

“Yeah, and on Thanksgiving we’ll be with yours. C’mon, Mick, it’ll be fun. You can even bring Yev,” Ian cajoled. Mickey still wasn’t sold until the other man rested his chin on Mickey’s shoulder, nuzzling his face into the crook of Mickey’s neck.

“Fuck, fine,” he muttered irritably.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that was how Mickey ended up at the Gallagher house on the Saturday of Labour Day weekend, with Yev in tow. Hanging back a little with his son, Mickey watched as Ian gave Debbie a hug, shook hands with the guy who was apparently her boyfriend, and got introduced to Lip’s new squeeze. Mickey quickly glanced down at Yev, and saw that the kid’s brow was furrowed slightly. He forced himself to give the boy a reassuring smile.

After Ian had greeted his family, he turned back to Mickey and Yev.

“Guys, this is Yevgeny, Mickey’s son. Mick, this is April,” the blonde, “and Matty,” the nerdy looking guy standing next to Debbie. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Mickey.”

Mickey’s eyebrows lifted slightly. While he figured it was probably the most accurate word to describe their relationship, he didn’t think he’d ever been called that before. It caused a slight fluttery feeling in his chest. Before he could think about it too much, though, Fiona began organising where everyone would be spending the night.

The house was packed to the rafters, filled with Gallaghers, their respective plus ones, with Kev, Vee, and their kids making it seventeen people. Mickey struggled not to feel claustrophobic. He barely paid attention to what was being said. All he caught was that Yev would be rooming with Liam and Carl, and that him, Ian, Debbie’s dorky boyfriend, and Lip would be sleeping in the living room.

He’d barely managed to bite back a groan at that part.

The day passed quickly, for which Mickey was grateful. He’d just finished brushing his teeth when Ian stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. Mickey wasn’t so out of sorts with the way the day had gone that he wasn’t able to leer at the redhead.

Ian smirked at him, reaching down to toss the towel casually aside. Stepping up behind Mickey, he wrapped his arms around Mickey’s waist, kissing Mickey on that spot behind his right ear.

An involuntary shiver ran down Mickey’s spine.

“So,” Ian asked, trailing a line of kisses down to Mickey’s nape, “you want the couch, or the air mattress?”

“You can take the couch,” Mickey replied, turning around so he could face the redhead.

“Y’know, we might both fit,” the other man said with a grin, leaning forward to kiss Mickey. Having tilted his chin eagerly, Mickey let out a vicious curse when he heard a loud banging on the door.

“You two better not be jerkin’ each other off in there!” Lip’s voice called.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Mickey growled.

Heaving a sigh, Ian settled for kissing him on the cheek before stepping back to pull some clothes on. They opened the door a few minutes later to find Lip leaning against the doorframe.

“You do everything you wanted to in there?” the other man asked with a smirk.

Ian took hold of Mickey’s wrist before he could answer, tugging him in the direction of the stairs to say goodnight to Yev. Muttering irritably under his breath, Mickey allowed the redhead to tug him up the stairs to the room Liam, Carl and Yev would be sharing.

They didn’t find Yev in the bedroom; instead, the kid, Amy, and Jemma were chasing each other around the upstairs, making one hell of a noise. Not looking where he was going, Yev nearly barrelled into Ian.

“Whoa, there, little man,” the redhead said, catching Yev by the shoulders before the kid could land on his butt. “You having fun?” Ian asked, flicking his gaze towards the two grinning little girls.

“Uh-huh!” Yev answered with a bright smile.

“Well, hate to burst your bubble, kid, but you gotta get to bed now,” Mickey told him.

“But Dad!” Yev complained.

“I told your mom I wouldn’t fuck with your routine too bad,” Mickey informed him. “Only reason she agreed to let you come with.”

“What mama doesn’t know—” the kid began.

“Yeah, that’s cute,” Mickey said, ignoring Ian’s little huff of laughter. “Now, go put your pyjamas on.”

Heaving a martyred sigh, Yev gave the girls a dejected wave, and went to do as he’d been told.

“See what you did?” Ian asked once they’d said goodnight to Yev.

“Huh?”

“‘What mama doesn’t know?’ I seem to remember you telling him the same thing,” Ian said reminded him.

“An’ the day the kid starts followin’ my example is the day Svetlana cuts my balls off.”

Ignoring the slightly alarmed look Debbie’s Big Bird shot in their direction, Mickey tried to settle onto the air mattress that had been placed next to the couch. Ian stretched his long, lean body out on the couch, but as soon as Mickey tried to lie back, he started to list to the side of the mattress. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbled when it happened again. Unless he stayed in the dead centre of the thing, Mickey was going to end up rolling onto the floor.

“What’s up?” Ian asked, glancing down at him as Mickey kept up a constant litany of curses.

“Nothin’,” Mickey muttered. “Go to sleep.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian watched as his boyfriend struggled with the mattress, biting back a laugh as the swearing grew more and more colourful.

“Mick,” he finally murmured.

Mickey’s cursing cut off abruptly.

“Get up here,” Ian said tiredly when the other man didn’t respond.

A deep sigh that Ian was pretty sure the whole house heard. Finally, Mickey stood up, almost tripping over the mattress. More swearing. Pushing the blankets aside, Ian shifted over a little so Mickey could fit on the couch; still, it was a tight squeeze, with Mickey having to lie halfway on top of him.

“Comfy?” Ian asked.

Mickey’s answer was muffled against his chest. Shaking his head, Ian was pulling the covers over them when his brother walked in.

Lip paused at the sight of them, but uncharacteristically kept quiet. Instead, he just shook his head, and headed over to his own spot on the floor. Unlike with Mickey, the other man appeared to have no trouble getting comfortable on his mattress.

Ignoring the weight of his brother’s disapproval, Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey, pulling him close.

Sleep came soon after.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 _Okay, that wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it’d be,_ Mickey conceded to himself on Monday. Sure, there were too many people, and it was fuckin’ noisy in the mornings when all Mickey wanted to do was sleep; but he’d thought things would’ve been a hell of a lot worse.

At least Yev had had fun.

“Dad, Fiona’s gonna make waffles,” the kid announced, coming into where Mickey was sitting in the living room.

“Oh, yeah? You gonna save me some?”

“Nope.” And with that, Yev took off back to the kitchen.

“Little asshole,” Mickey muttered fondly.

“Nice way to talk about your kid,” Lip said from behind him.

Rolling his eyes, Mickey glanced over his shoulder at Ian’s brother. Not in the mood to put up with Lip’s bullshit, he made to get up.

“Stay,” the other man said sharply.

Eyebrows lifted in disbelief at the fucker’s tone, Mickey was just about to flip the guy off when Lip continued, “I wanna talk to you about somethin’.”

Those words made Mickey pause. There was only one reason why Lip would want to talk to him.

Reluctantly, he sat down again; Lip took a seat on the couch opposite him. There was a tense silence between the two men as they eyed each other warily.

“I don’t like you,” Lip told him abruptly.

“Careful, Phillip, you’re gonna hurt my feelings,” Mickey replied with a smirk.

“But you make Ian happy,” Lip went on, his jaw clenched in irritation. “I’ve got no fuckin’ idea why, but you do.”

Mickey could’ve told the other man that Ian made him happy, too. But that was none of Lip’s fucking business. Instead, injecting as much insolence into his tone as he could, he asked, “This conversation got a point?”

“Yeah,” Lip said after a moment’s pause. “Point is, don’t fuck it up.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The train ride home was quiet, which was something of a relief to Mickey. He didn’t know which asshole in the Gallagher house had been responsible, but Yev had been bouncing off the walls the whole goddamn weekend from all the candy he’d been given. It’d made Mickey tired just to watch the kid.

But now, Yev was passed out against him, the boy’s breathing deep and even. Mickey hoped that the kid would stay zen for the rest of the day; Lana would bash his head in if Yev came home hyper—she’d warned him about giving their son too much sugar.

Watching as the buildings and roads passed them by, Mickey turned his thoughts from his ex-wife to... his boyfriend.

_God, it was weird to think about Ian that way._

Still, that hadn’t stopped Mickey from making an ass of himself before he’d left.

Ian had driven Mickey and Yev down to the station. It hadn’t been a big deal; they were going to be seeing each other the next week. But for some reason, that wasn’t working for Mickey. Turning to the redhead, Mickey had spoken without thinking.

“You should move back in with me.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Ian had quickly turned to face Mickey.

“What?” he’d asked blankly.

Shrugging self-consciously, Mickey had glanced down at Yev. The kid had been fighting back a huge yawn, his lack of interest in the adults’ conversation obvious.

“You could, I dunno... If you were stayin’ with me, we wouldn’t have to do this back an’ forth bullshit all the time,” Mickey told him.

“Yeah, but... Mick, I want a place of my own.”

“C’mon, Gallagher, it’s not like you’re in your own place now.”

“I don’t wanna stay in your apartment,” Ian said slowly.

And hadn’t that just fuckin’ hurt? Mickey had been trying to hide his reaction when Ian hurried on.

“I’m not saying no to us living together,” the redhead had said earnestly. “I just wanna be in a place that’s... ours, y’know?”

“It could be,” Mickey murmured, scuffing his shoe on the dirty floor of the station so he wouldn’t have to meet the other man’s gaze.

Ian’s deep sigh had made Mickey flinch a little. Glancing up at the sound of the train arriving, the redhead spoke quickly.

“Look, we’ll talk about it. Maybe look around some, for an apartment that’s got decent water pressure, and a bedroom for your kid to sleep in. I’m not saying no,” Ian had told him again, ducking down a little to meet his eyes, “just that we need to find the right place. Okay?”

Nodding mutely, Mickey had been just about to take a step back before Ian darted forward, closing the few inches between them. The kiss was quick and sweet and it’d made them both grin; in that moment, Mickey hadn’t given a single fuck who’d seen it.

Now, sitting on the train, a feeling of warmth spreading in his chest at the memory, Mickey resolved to comb through every classified he could find in search of an apartment.

If Ian wanted a place of his own, then Mickey would find him one.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey had brought Ian to a house not far from their old neighbourhood. On the way there, he’d listened to the other man’s description of the place: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a yard. And all the while, Ian had wondered what the catch was. Now, as Ian stood in front of the house, he understood how the place could’ve been in their price range.

Staring at the dilapidated building for a moment, Ian wondered if Mickey was screwing with him.

“This is it?” he asked carefully.

“Uh-huh. It ain’t bad, right?”

Tearing his gaze away from the house with its sagging roof and boarded up windows, Ian turned to give his boyfriend an incredulous look.

“Mick, I’d feel safer sleeping on the street. Least that way I wouldn’t have to worry about the ceiling collapsing on me.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Mickey protested. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Really? ‘Cause it looks like a dump.”

The dark haired man seemed to deflate a little, and Ian wished he’d toned it down some. Mickey had been looking for a place for them to live for weeks, checking out every possibility in their price range after work and on weekends. On the occasions where Ian wasn’t with him, the other man would take pictures and send them to him. Now, on the day before Thanksgiving, Mickey had managed to talk the dour-faced realtor into letting them see the house.

Barely managing to hold back a heavy sigh, Ian asked, “How much is this place gonna cost us?”

“Four-fifty,” Mickey muttered.

“Why so cheap?” Ian demanded, immediately suspicious. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothin’,” Mickey answered defensively. “It’s just... they may have found a couple bodies buried in the yard.”

Ian gaped at the other man. _Dead bodies buried in the yard of their potential new home._

“They’re not there anymore!” Mickey told him hastily. Seeing that that was hardly the reassurance Ian was looking for, Mickey’s shoulders slumped. “Y’know what, never mind,” he said tiredly. “Sorry for wastin’ your time,” he said to the scowling realtor who’d been listening to their entire conversation.

“Mick, wait,” Ian said, not liking the dejected set to his boyfriend’s shoulders. Waiting until Mickey looked over at him, Ian asked, “You been inside yet?”

“Couple times. Even had Greg take a look at the place,” Mickey said with a shrug. “’Part from the roof, most of everythin’ that needs to get fixed is cosmetic.”

Forcing himself to put his misgivings on the back burner for the time being, Ian jerked his head in the direction of the house.

“I wanna have a look.”

Mickey tried to play it cool, but Ian could see the spark of excitement in the other man’s eyes. Hurrying past him, Mickey led the way to the front door before moving aside to let Ian brush past him.

Walking into the short entryway, Ian moved into the living room, looking at how the room branched off into the kitchen. The walls were intact, not showing any sign of being ripped apart in search of copper pipes; that made up for the living room’s dirty carpet and the peeling paint.

The bedrooms were bigger than Ian had anticipated, and there didn’t appear to be anything growing in either of the bathrooms. The heat apparently worked, and you got more than a trickle when you turned the water on. Even the yard was a surprise; whoever’d been responsible for clean up had done such a good job that you couldn’t tell where the bodies had been found.

“This place isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” Ian conceded as he took a last look around the backyard.

“You like it?” Mickey asked, his tone hopeful.

“I think... maybe I could,” he answered thoughtfully.

“Great.” With that, Mickey turned towards the house, calling out, “Ey, Mrs Eisenhower,” as he went. The woman had been waiting for them in the living room while they’d been looking around.

“Hold up,” Ian said, grabbing hold of the other man’s arm. “What about you? Do you like it?”

Mickey paused for a moment, letting out an exasperated little huff.

“Gallagher, I wouldn’t give a shit if we spent the rest of our lives in my apartment. I just... I want you with me.”

Mrs Eisenhower came out of the house at that moment. Without looking away from his suddenly shifty-eyed boyfriend, Ian told her, “We’ll take it.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ian had decided he liked Santiago. He’d been wary of the man initially, with a small part of him wishing that Mandy and Lip would be able to work things out. But now, watching how the other man treated Mandy, Ian gave up on the idea. The idea of someone ‘glowing with happiness’ had always sounded a little hokey to him, but now he could sort of see what people meant; every time Mandy smiled at her boyfriend, it was like her whole face lit up.

They were at the place Mandy was sharing with Santiago, along with the rest of the guy’s family. It was a noisy affair, and Ian grinned when he saw that Santiago’s parents had cornered Mickey. The older couple had taken an immediate liking to him, and watching the dark haired man squirm as he tried to be polite made Ian want to pull his phone out so he could record the whole thing.

“You, Orange Boy,” a thickly accented voice said from behind him.

Surprised, Ian spun around to face Svetlana. The woman was peering at him over the edge of her glass, and he fought the urge to fidget under the weight of her stare. He hadn’t spent much time with her since... well, ever, so he couldn’t figure out why she’d want to speak to him.

“Lana, hey!” Ian said brightly. “You look great! Are you having a good time?”

“You are permanent fixture now?” she asked, ignoring his babbling. “You are not going to run off to do drugs, or join circus?”

Ian tried not to flinch.

“Uh, no. No plans on doing anything crazy,” he answered nervously.

“Good.” Lana paused to take a sip of her drink before continuing. “Last time was almost as bad as first,” she finally told him. She inclined her head in Mickey’s direction, where he’d finally managed to extricate himself from Santiago’s folks.

Looking back at Svetlana, Ian started a little to find that the woman had taken a step closer until she was directly in front of him.

“Yevgeny was upset also,” she informed Ian, as he struggled not to give in to the urge to back pedal.

“I know, and I’m really—”

Svetlana held up her hand, effectively cutting him off. She met his gaze without flinching as she spoke.

“Fuck up again, and I will bash your orange head.” She then barked at him in Russian, making him jump.

“Yeah, I got it,” he told her hastily.

Flicking an unimpressed glance over him, Svetlana walked away to join Nika on the couch.

 _Jesus Christ,_ Ian thought. _Never again would he poke fun at Mickey for being wary of his ex wife. The woman was fucking terrifying._

Shortly after his little tete-a-tete with Svetlana, it was announced that dinner was ready. A couple of tables had been pushed together, and Ian found himself sitting between Mickey and Mandy. The meal passed without incident, although Lana’s hackles did raise a little when she caught Yev trying to pass off his broccoli to Santiago.

Ian waited until everyone had finished eating before clearing his throat. Once he was sure he had the whole room’s attention, he reached under the table to squeeze Mickey’s hand.

“So, uh, since everyone’s here, I thought I’d tell you that Mickey and I have some news.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey stared at his boyfriend, giving an exasperated little sigh as he saw the enthusiasm that lit up the fool’s face. He didn’t see why they had to have a public fucking announcement about them moving in together, but it seemed to make Gallagher happy.

Brushing his thumb reassuringly over Ian’s knuckles, Mickey sat back and allowed the redhead to share the news with their family.

“Mick and I found a place, and... we’re gonna be living together soon.”

“Oh, my God, you guys! That’s so great!” Mandy turned in her seat to pull Ian into a tight hug. “When’s it gonna happen?” she asked once she’d let the other man out of the strangle hold she’d had him in.

“Beginnin’ of next year,” Mickey answered. Then, turning to Yev, he told the kid, “An’ there’ll be a room for you, too.”

“My own room!” Yev crowed. “For real?”

He grinned as he listened to his son’s excited chatter. Spending a few minutes answering questions from Santiago and Nika—who knew a surprising amount about DIY—about the state of the house, Mickey eventually noticed that his boyfriend had fallen silent.

Turning to Ian curiously, Mickey found himself staring into a pair of bright green eyes.

“What?” he asked, shifting a little at the intensity in the other man’s gaze.

Shaking his head wordlessly, Ian just smiled at him. The redhead had been giving him that same sweet, stupid smile since the beginning.

Mickey didn’t even try and fight it: he smiled back.

 


	27. We're Users, but at Least We Use Each Other, Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm finally done. Can you guys believe it? I'm actually more emotional about this than I would've expected to be. I'd just like to say a big, gigantic thank you to all of you who read this, and left kudos, and subscribed. Special thanks to the people who commented either here, or on tumblr. I LOVED hearing from you guys. Also, on the days where I was feeling a little flat, or the words wouldn't come, or whatever, your comments were such a huge motivator. I don't know that I would've finished this without your enthusiasm!  
> I really hope you enjoy this last chapter.

It was a cold January night. The entire place was quiet, with all the smart people staying inside their homes where they didn’t stand the chance of catching fucking hypothermia.

“When you said we’d be doin’ somethin’ fun, I didn’t think you meant puttin’ us both in the goddamn hospital.”

“Would you relax? It’ll be fine.”

A few moments of silence. Then...

“This is a bad fuckin’ idea,” Mickey grumbled.

“C’mon, Mick. What twenty-six year old man doesn’t know how to skate?”

“One who doesn’t wanna break his goddamn neck.” Mickey scowled over at his boyfriend. The asshole already had his skates on and laced up, and was waiting for Mickey for follow suit. The hint of laughter dancing in Ian’s eyes had Mickey wanting to throw something at him.

Gallagher seemed to have all the patience in the world, so Mickey gave up on the idea of trying to outwait the redhead. Resigned, he stood up, made to take a step forward... and almost landed on his ass.

Barely managing to keep his balance, Mickey glared over at Ian when he heard the other man’s muffled snicker. Cursing under his breath, Mickey took one cautious step forward, then another, until he was finally at the edge of the rink where Ian was waiting for him.

“I promise, I won’t let you fall,” the redhead told him, picking up on Mickey’s apprehension.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey huffed.

Then, ignoring his boyfriend, Mickey focused on not bloodying his face on the big hunk of ice beneath him. Ian gave him a few pointers, all the while keeping a steadying hand on his arm.

After a while, Mickey slowly gained confidence. He stuck close to the railing, but somehow managed to keep himself upright without much help from the other man. Soon, Ian felt comfortable enough to release his grip on Mickey.

Big mistake.

“ _Motherfuck_ ,” Mickey cursed as he felt himself wobble on his skates. He tried grabbing for the railing, while Gallagher—apparently remembering his earlier promise—tried grabbing for Mickey. Which probably wasn’t the best idea. Stumbling over each other, they both ended up careening into the side of the rink.

For a moment, all Mickey could do was grip the railing as he waited to regain his balance. Ian’s arms were frozen around him. And all Mickey could think to say in that moment was, “I fuckin’ _told_ you!”

Silence. Then Mickey could feel the other man’s body shaking against his. Pulling back a little, Mickey felt the sarcastic comment he’d been about to make die on his lips.

Ian looked so happy, the sound of his laughter making something catch in Mickey’s chest.

“I love you,” Mickey said without thinking.

The redhead’s laughter quickly cut off.

“You-you what?”

 _Huh. He’d rendered the other guy speechless_ , Mickey thought. _First time for everything._ Grinning, he spoke with more confidence this time.

“I love you. Even though you’re tryin’to fuckin’ kill—”

The rest of what Mickey’d been about to say was cut off by a breathless kiss. Arms winding around the other man’s shoulders automatically, he surrendered himself to the feel of Ian’s lips against his.

Finally, they broke the kiss, each of them gasping for breath. Ian rested his forehead against Mickey’s for a second.

“I love you, too,” Ian whispered back.

Mickey didn’t know how long they stood there in the cold, grinning like idiots. All he knew was that he wanted to hear the redhead saying those words over and over again.

“But,” Ian said firmly, finally breaking the spell, “that’s not gonna get you out of this.”

Pulling back a little, Ian picked up the lesson where it’d left off. Mickey listened to Gallagher’s serious explanation of how to place your feet on the ice so you didn’t land on your ass; still, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

“Mick, are you even listening to me?”

“Yup.”

Then, placing his feet as directed, Mickey slowly made his way to the redhead’s side. Taking Ian’s hand in his, Mickey gave him a little tug.

“C’mon, Gallagher. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just sort of rambly, so you can skip past ignore it if you want. I just wanted to write this down, and I didn't really know where else to do it.  
> Skylight surprised me in a lot of ways. First thing was that I didn't expect it to get as... grim as it did. Which was probably dumb. I mean, there aren't really very many ways for a fic dealing with addiction to do it happily. And then I surprised myself with this. I mean, I finished it, for one thing. I'd tried my hand at multichapter fics before, but I never got round to putting them up because I never finished with them. I also surprised myself with how deep I had to dig for this. I've had an incredibly cushy life, so I've never experienced anything like the things I wrote about. So it wasn't just having to look up things like drug street names. It was having to really think about how I imagined people would react to certain things. And the final thing that surprised me was people's response. I honestly didn't think I'd get so much feedback. I thought this would just go under the radar, but you have all been so incredibly kind in your reactions. So, again, a huge thank you. Thank you for sticking with Skylight for the last four months. Thank you for telling me you liked it. Thank you for not being scared away when things got hairy. Just... thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> I had planned to write something light and fluffy for White Picket Fence Fantasies. I sat down in front of my computer, cracked my knuckles, and got ready to write. Except nothing happened. And then I heard Skylight, and an idea came to me: why not do an AU where Ian and Mickey meet at an AA or NA (details hadn't quite been worked out yet) meeting? Feeling inspired, I set to work. But then I got derailed by another idea, like in the cartoons where the body keeps walking while the head is staring at whatever's caught it's attention. That was totally me. My thought was, what if Ian hadn't come home? What if years had passed since Mickey and Ian last saw each other? And so this happened.


End file.
